


Star Wars One-Shots and Smaller WIPs

by cjwritesfanficnow



Series: Expanded One-Shots [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blanket Permission, Death Watch (Star Wars), Force Shenanigans, Gen, Kyr'tsad, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Obi-Wan Kenobi, One-Shots, Time Travel, gratuitous use of mando'a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjwritesfanficnow/pseuds/cjwritesfanficnow
Summary: What it says on the tin: Star Wars one-shots and works that I may continue into longer stories at some point.1. Ben is sent back after his death to Stewjon, where Force shenanigans lead to a meeting with a couple of Mandalorians.2. A slightly different situation on Mandalore leads to open war between Death Watch and the True Mandalorians. It sets a slightly different stage for Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's mission to protect Satine, with drastically different results.3. Directly follows the events of chapter 1. The Mandalorians meet the Council.4. Little baby Obi-Wan in the creche gets help with disturbing visions in the form of an unexpected Master.5. Directly follows chapter 4. You asked, I answered: Melida/Daan. Oh boy.6. Directly follows chapter 5. Our Mandos start to suspect what the "something different" about Obi-Wan is...7. An announcement!8. A series of unfortunate events leads to a very young Obi-Wan being adopted by members of the Death Watch.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jaster Mereel & Ben Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jaster Mereel, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Tarre Vizsla
Series: Expanded One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022848
Comments: 292
Kudos: 1470
Collections: Anything But Qui-Gon





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these I may continue into longer stories, some of them are just things that I liked, but worked into another story so I won't continue them as they are.
> 
> If you want to adopt any of these and run with them, please do! I only ask that you either comment to tell me and/or mark the post as inspired by another work so that I can find your take and read it! :)

When Ben Kenobi woke up, he was surprised, and more than a bit confused. Understandably, of course, given the fact that the last thing he remembered was giving himself over to the Force, allowing his spirit to disconnect from the last tethers that bound him to the living world. And it had been such a happy,  _ Light  _ moment—he had had Yoda at his side, and  _ Anakin— _ truly  _ Anakin  _ again, not  _ Vader _ —and he could hear Qui-Gon, deeper in the Force, beckoning him.

He had looked down on them, at Luke, and Leia, and faded out of existence.

And then he woke up. But the dead didn’t wake.

Slowly, he surveyed his surroundings. He was in an open field of tall, green-blue grass. Ben frowned—he didn’t recognize this world. Perhaps this was what existence looked like, on the other side of the Force?

_ Rise,  _ the Force bade him. It was ever Ben’s purpose to follow its Will, and so he shrugged to himself and rose. He could see what looked like a town, in the distance, low buildings with the small white smoke trails that spoke of inhabited homes.  _ Forward. _

Ben began to walk.

* * *

Ben was surprised yet again to learn that he was on Stewjon. The Force was with him, and sang with Light and peace; clearly he wasn’t in Hel, but if this were some sort of Heaven, why would it not give him back the Temple?

He pushed his questions aside in favor of trusting the Force. It had always given him what he needed, even if he had, sometimes, been too blind to understand.

He wandered through the town, his Jedi robes inconspicuous enough that no one bothered to give him a second glance, and where his auburn hair often made him stand out, on Stewjon it helped him to blend in.

_ Forward,  _ the Force called again. Ben sighed—hadn’t he done enough wandering during his years on Tatooine?  _ Forward. _

Very well then. Ben continued walking, leaving the town behind. He trusted the Force to take him where he was meant to go.

* * *

Ben was not quite certain how long he had walked—Stewjon was, for the most part, horribly cloudy, making it difficult to judge time by the position of its sun in the sky.

Finally, he stilled, feeling something  _ else  _ in the Force—panic, anger, fear,  _ hate. _

He flinched.  _ Forward. _

Grimacing, Ben followed his orders, and stopped dead at the sight before him: there was a woman, with a long, undyed, rough-spun dress, the fabric floating around her knees as she stood in a river.

And she was trying to drown a child.

Ben did not need the Force’s prodding to react to that—he surged forward, grabbing the child carefully and  _ pushing  _ the woman back. She stumbled and fell down into the river, landing with a strangled cry before pushing herself up again. Ben began backing away, drawing his ‘saber. It was his  _ first  _ ‘saber, he noted, the one that he had lost to Maul on Naboo. How strange. He ignited it, holding it out in front of him, cradling the shivering, wailing toddler to his chest.

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” the woman spat. “The demon  _ must  _ be given to the river, or the Tribe will  _ suffer— _ ”

Ben growled, and then reigned himself in as the child’s cries grew louder. “I will take him. You will never see him again.”

“That is not  _ enough— _ ” The woman took a step closer, and Ben bared his teeth.

“Take another step, and I  _ will  _ kill you.”

She paused, holding his gaze for a long moment, and Ben did not need a mirror to know what his expression looked like. She seemed to read the warning in his eyes, because she snarled at him, but backed up another step. Ben began to back up as well, slowly exiting the water and moving up onto the riverbank.

“He is  _ nothing, _ ” she said coldly. “He is no-one, child of nothing. Why save him?”

“All life is precious,” Ben snapped back, and then what she had said hit him.

_ No-one, child of nothing.  _ He felt the blood drain from his face as  _ realization  _ struck: they were on Stewjon. And in Stewjoni, “no-one, child of nothing” was translated as  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi. _

What was this? Why was Ben here? What was the Force requiring of him? To save another as he had been saved?

“Tell your Tribe you killed the child,” Ben ordered her, wrapping the Force around himself to make this a  _ command.  _ She frowned at him, but remained where she was, still in the river, staring at them. “I will take him, and we will never return to this planet again. You have my word.”

“We will kill you both, if you ever break your promise, and return here. They will kill  _ me  _ for the falsehood,” she snarled at him. Ben nodded.

“I understand; we will  _ not  _ return. Now  _ go. _ ” He pushed as much of the Force as he could into that last word, and watched her leave.

He waited until she was nearly out of sight, a small speck on the horizon, the child’s cries subsiding as she moved farther from them. Ben slowly sat down, setting the still-damp child in his lap. He shrugged off his cloak, looking over the boy.

He was small and pale, with the same red hair that Ben sported and was common to all Stewjoni. The boy stared up at him with light eyes, somewhere between blue, green, and grey, and Ben tried to smile as he shrugged out of his cloak.

“I need to get you out of those wet clothes,” Ben murmured. “You must be cold.”

The boy blinked at him, but said nothing. He didn’t protest as Ben helped him struggle out of the wet clothes, laying them out to dry in the grass beside them. Ben shrugged off his cloak, and then wrapped it around the boy, gently smoothing a hand over the top of his head.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Ben hummed. The boy nodded slowly. “We’ll wait here a bit, until your clothes are dry enough to put back on.” The boy nodded again, but said nothing. He clutched Ben’s cloak tighter around himself. “My name is Ben Kenobi.”

The boy frowned at him. “Kenobi too?”

Ben nodded sadly. “Yes.”

The boy reached out to pat his knee clumsily. “Sorry.”

Ben’s heart ached—so he realized what that meant. Ben tried to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. We have each other now, don’t we?” The boy nodded. It was strange to think of another as Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Ben knew that there had been many of them; it was simply that few survived long enough to be known outside of Stewjon. They were ruthless in culling their Force-sensitive children.

_ Why  _ no one truly understood, but there they were. Ben himself had been saved in a disturbingly similar situation, by a Jedi who had been stranded on Stewjon briefly while they repaired their ship after an altercation with a band of pirates in the same sector.

And now the Force had saved another child of Stewjon.

_ No,  _ the Force disagreed.  _ Not another. _

Well, that made little sense. Ben sighed and decided to think on that later. For now, he had more pressing concerns, such as when this strange afterlife hallucination would end, and if it didn’t end soon enough, then he needed to find a way off of the planet.

Hallucination or not, Ben was not going to sit by as yet another child was killed simply for the crime of being touched by the Force.

* * *

Ben held Obi-Wan on his hip as he walked and followed the Force to the next town over. This one, he was pleased to note, was far larger than the small village he had first come across, before finding that woman and Obi-Wan near the river. There even looked to be a spaceport—one of only two on the entire planet, Ben knew. Stewjon was terribly isolationist.

He entered the town proper, walking without consciously realizing where he was going, allowing the Force to guide him. Ben contemplated their situation.

He had a Force-sensitive child with him, and he himself was very obviously a Jedi, and therefore Force-sensitive. They were on a planet that would kill them for that alone, and he had already promised that they would leave, never to return. But he had no credits—and oh, he had checked, but apparently the Force had not deemed it necessary to provide him with any additional help beyond its guidance when he’d suddenly appeared back on the planet of his birth—and he had no idea who might be sympathetic enough to help them off the planet.

And the child must be getting hungry, Ben thought idly. It was strange, but he himself was getting hungry as well. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to understand what the hollow sensation in his stomach was, the meaning behind the gnawing pit that was developing. But then, he  _ had  _ spent the past few years as Force ghost, and the dead had no need to worry about such things.

Whatever the Force had done to him when he let go of the last anchors holding him back from joining it, Ben was quickly growing more and more befuddled by it.

Ben did the sensible thing and made his way to the spaceport. He was a good enough mechanic, and he had various other skills that he could offer in exchange for passage to a more hospitable place. Suddenly, he paused, wondering if he should stick to Outer Rim planets, wondering if the Empire existed here in this life-beyond-the-afterlife or not.

It did not matter, he decided. The Outer Rim would be safer than other avenues, yes, and he could learn the lay of the land later, assuming the Force continued this strange hallucination after.

_ Life,  _ the Force whispered, sounding almost disgruntled. Ben frowned at that. It was still terribly unhelpful.

He found them a bench and sat down, looking over the ships there. Many of them were Stewjoni, from the few trading clans that actually had any contact with the larger galaxy.

He sucked in a breath and quickly wrapped the Force around himself and Obi-Wan, hiding them within its folds, trying to ensure that they wouldn’t be noticed. Because there, at one end of the hangar, was a heavily armed ship, and standing on the ramp were two Mandalorians.

Ben studied them carefully: one wore red armor—honoring a parent, he knew—and the other wore black armor—for justice. The one in blue turned to shout something at one of the droids working on the ship, and Ben frowned: there was a stylized white mythosaur on his chest.

Who were these Mandalorians? Clearly they weren’t Death Watch, because they would never allow one of their members to wear  _ that  _ symbol. That was the sigil of the True Mandalorians, but—they were all dead. The Jedi had killed them.

Hadn’t they?

_ Not yet,  _ the Force whispered. Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion.  _ Change. _

Well, that was just as maddeningly unclear as the rest of what the Force had whispered that day. What did it  _ mean?  _ Not  _ yet?  _ It had happened when Ben was just a child—

In his intense concern and worry, one of his hands holding the cloak slipped, and Obi-Wan let out small, wordless cry. Ben looked down at him, frowning.

“It’s alright, little one,” Ben murmured. “I’ve been in worse predicaments than this, I can assure you. Everything will be alright.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him again, falling quiet. Ben sighed and hugged him a bit tighter to his chest, looking up to survey the hangar again.

The Mandalorians were looking at him. Ben mentally cursed. If they realized he was a Jedi—and they had no fondness for the Order, even if they “hadn’t yet” killed all of them (whatever that was supposed to mean)—they weren’t likely to keep quiet about it. That would out Ben and Obi-Wan to everyone else here, and they would have to reach the other spaceport, to have any chance of making it off of Stewjon.

That was on the other side of the planet, if he recalled correctly. But there was nothing for it; they would have to go. Sighing, Ben got to his feet, intending to turn away and leave the spaceport—

His legs did not seem to be obeying his commands, instead marching him  _ towards  _ the Mandalorians. The Force wrapped itself around him, part comfort and part order:  _ forward. _

...alright then.

He approached the Mandalorians, his body allowing them to stop several feet away. He cleared his throat, and both looked to him. “ _ Su cuy’gar, Mando’ade. _ ”

“ _ Su’cuy, _ ” the one in black said. He, too, had the stylized mythosaur skull on his chest, though his was painted in green, for duty. He fell silent, waiting for Ben to speak.

“ _ Tion’cuyi Haat Mando’ade? _ ” he asked. They nodded slowly. Ben nodded back. He opened his mouth again, but the words that came out were not the ones he had intended to say—more of the Force controlling him, he thought. He didn’t much care for it, as much as he strove to follow its Will. He much preferred it when his actions were his own to choose. The Force seemed to brush against his cheek in silent apology, but he could not take the words back.

“ _ Ke’hiibi kaysh. Ni gedeti. _ ”

The two Mandalorians exchanged glances, and then looked at Obi-Wan, who only blinked silently at them. Ben knew he couldn’t have any way to understand Mando’a, and he likely felt the currents of the Force behaving strangely around them, muffled by the  _ beskar  _ they wore.

“ _ Tion'jor? _ ” the black-clad Mandalorian asked slowly.

“ _ Ni kaysh tegaanali. Kaysh dar’buir… _ ” Ben shivered, and Obi-Wan made a small noise. The toddler patted his chest.

“S’okay, Ben,” he assured him. The Mandalorians stared at them for a moment longer, and then the one in black stepped forward slowly. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a dark-skinned man with streaks of grey beginning to show in his hair. He had a wicked scar across his cheek. He smiled gently at Obi-Wan.

“Hello, little one,” he said. Obi-Wan looked up at him, blinking slowly.

“Hi.”

“I’m Lark Kordo, House Mereel,” he said. Ben frowned at that—it was one thing to wear the mythosaur on their armor, and it was another entirely to claim House Mereel. That was  _ dangerous,  _ that put a target on their backs even more than the mythosaur did— “What’s your name?”

Obi-Wan looked down at the floor, whispering, “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“That’s a nice name,” Kordo said. Obi-Wan bit his lip and shook his head.

“It’s like Nasaade,” Ben explained quietly, looking at Obi-Wan so he didn’t have to see the Mandalorian’s expression at that. “But rather than choosing the name for himself, it was given to him by his  _ dar’buir. _ ”

“Why?” Kordo asked, an edge of anger coloring his voice. Ben flinched slightly. He had realized, of course, that they would find out eventually, and he knew he would have to tell them. He could only trust the Force that had led him to speak to them, and hope that they would still help the boy. He knew they cared for children, especially if they still clung to the  _ Haat Mando’ade’s  _ ideals.

Ben could only hope that would extend to Force-sensitive children as well.

“The Force is with him,” Ben answered quietly. Kordo stiffened slightly. “Stewjoni see it as a curse. They try to… eliminate it from their population.”

“Momma tried to give me to the river,” Obi-Wan added softly. “It was cold.” He shivered and Ben held him a bit tighter, flinching again at the pure  _ rage  _ Kordo radiated for a second as he connected the dots.

“You look Stewjoni,” Kordo said, looking at Ben critically. He nodded.

“I am.”

“Why help him, then? If your people believe the Force is a curse?”

Ben gave him a smile that he could feel was lopsided, and perhaps a little bitter. He took one hand off of Obi-Wan to open his cloak slightly, revealing the lightsaber on his hip.

“You’re a  _ Jetii. _ ”

Ben flinched. “I  _ was.  _ Before.” He had  _ tried,  _ so hard, to retain what he could of the Order on Tatooine, but he had found it so very  _ difficult  _ to be a Jedi without the Order. It was a hollow ache that had never truly been soothed.

Kordo’s expression turned wary. “ _ Dar’Jetii? _ ”

“No, of course not,” Ben assured him. “I…  _ wey’cuyi Jetii  _ is perhaps a better description. I am hardly a Sith. Please—I promised, in exchange for his mother giving him to me, that I would get him off the planet, never to return. Will you help him?”

“What will happen to you, if you stay?” the Mandalorian in red asked slowly, speaking up for the first time. Ben shrugged; it hardly mattered, if they wanted to kill  _ him,  _ but he wasn’t about to explain to these hallucinations that he was already dead. The Force seemed to disagree with that thought, but Ben could not understand  _ why. _ The Mandalorian in red hit a button on his gauntlet, one that Ben guessed was for their comms. The Mandalorian in black put his hand to his ear—definitely comms, then. Kordo nodded slowly.

Aloud, he said, “I agree. You should both come with us.” Ben frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Kordo shook his head. “If you had your own means of the planet, you wouldn’t need to ask us to take the little one. You’re in danger if you stay, by your own admission. I know we’ve had our… differences in the past,  _ Jetiise  _ and  _ Mando’ade,  _ but you speak our language, and you’re not a  _ Jetii  _ anymore.” Kordo shrugged. “We can drop you off somewhere, if you have a place to go. We’ll figure that out later. For now, it seems like your need is fairly urgent, and we’re just about finished with our refuelling. Are you coming?”

“I… yes,” Ben sighed as the Force whispered  _ forward-change-forward- _ **_change._ ** “ _ Vor’e. _ ” Kordo nodded in satisfaction.

“ _ Jate.  _ I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking.”

* * *

The Mandalorian in red didn’t take his helmet off until they were all safely ensconced in the ship, in hyperspace. He was, apparently, Lark Kordo’s son, though as he was a Twi’lek, Ben guessed he’d been adopted. Obi-Wan, for his part, seemed to easily accept that, and let the young man, Khizada, feed him a bit of stew—which he added a few extra tubers to in order to make it less spicy for the youngling—while Lark set the autopilot.

“So,  _ wey’cuyi Jetii— _ where to?” Lark asked. Ben hesitated. Should he return to Tatooine? The Force seemed to disagree with that idea.

_ Forward,  _ it told him, which, again, answered precisely none of his questions. Ben sighed.

“I’m afraid we have nowhere to go,” Ben answered. “Though, if you could take us to any inhabited planet that does not hate Force-sensitives on principle, we will be fine.”

The Force seemed almost  _ angry  _ with him for that.  **_Forward. Change._ **

Change  _ what?  _ Forward to  _ where?  _ Ben pursed his lips as he argued with the Force. It only sighed at him in reply, as if disappointed in him. Ben got the sense that he was missing something.

Lark looked at him curiously. “We could take you to  _ Manda’yaim, _ ” he offered slowly. Ben frowned outright at him. “Look, the Wars were a long time ago, and you said yourself you aren’t even a  _ Jetii  _ anymore. You saved an  _ adiik,  _ at great risk to yourself. There’s no  _ Mando’ad  _ who wouldn’t understand that—well, except for  _ Kyr’tsad,  _ those  _ hu’tuunla shabuir’e. _ ”

Ben blinked at him. “And what of Galidraan?”

Lark frowned. “Galidraan? Never heard of it.”

“...what?” Ben sighed, reaching up to rub his temples.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lark said slowly. “If you’re concerned that we might not all feel the same way, we can go to the  _ Mand’alor.  _ If he agrees that you can stay, then everyone will fall in line.”

“...and who is the  _ Mand’alor? _ ” Ben asked slowly. He had heard  _ rumors, _ before he died—everything from Satine’s nephew, Korkie, donning armor and taking control, to the reemergence of Boba Fett.

“Jaster Mereel,” Lark answered immediately. Ben’s heart skipped a beat.

“That’s not possible,” he said. It wasn’t, it  _ wasn’t  _ possible, it couldn’t be. Jaster Mereel had been dead for… Force,  _ decades  _ now. He had died on Korda 6, after the Death Watch had set a trap for them, only one of the first.

“...are you alright?” Ben snapped his mouth shut, realizing he had been muttering to himself. He shrugged helplessly. “Okay, look. Not to be rude, but you’re clearly in no shape to take care of a child by yourself right now.”

Ben huffed a laugh at that. Yes, that was bitterly true. Although Ben had clearly  _ never  _ been in any shape to care for a child. Just look at how Anakin had turned out—

“We’re taking you to  _ Manda’yaim, _ ” Lark said firmly. He held up a hand as Ben opened his mouth to protest again. “I’ll speak to the  _ Mand’alor,  _ and we’ll get you a  _ mir’baar'ur.  _ Once they agree that you’re… stable, you can take Obi-Wan wherever you want to go, if you choose to leave. Does that sound fair to you?”

More than fair, actually, though frankly, Ben was dreading speaking to a mind healer. Especially a  _ Mandalorian  _ mind healer. But… perhaps he could simply make off with Obi-Wan, once they were on Mandalore. Going into hiding on Mandalore, running from Mandalorians… at least that was familiar territory.

He nodded slowly. “Fair enough.  _ Vor entye. _ ”

Lark nodded. “ _N'entye._ _ Tion’gar gai? _ ”

Ben smiled tightly. “Well, it was once Obi-Wan Kenobi, of course. I now go by Ben Kenobi.”

Lark nodded again. “Ben. Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll look after Obi-Wan, for a while.”

Ben nodded, suddenly aware of how  _ tired  _ he was—but then, the dead did not need sleep, either. When he had not been needed in the living world, he had simply…  _ drifted  _ on the currents of the Force.

“Yes, thank you. I shall feel better after some sleep, I’m sure,” Ben said. He tried for a reassuring grin, but judging from the concern Lark was still radiating in the Force, he hadn’t quite managed it.

* * *

His sleep was not as restful as he would have hoped. Ben  _ knew  _ that he was dreaming, but he still felt his eyes sting, tears gathering as he looked around the quarters he had occupied in the Temple for so long—first with Qui-Gon, and then, later, with Anakin.

When he had gone back to the Temple that final time with Master Yoda, Ben had dared to look into their quarters. Anakin had destroyed  _ everything,  _ including the river stone that Qui-Gon had given to him, and that Ben had passed down to Anakin on his thirteenth birthday. Jedi were not supposed to become attached to their belongings any more than they were meant to become attached to people, but Ben had never been the best example of detachment.

“Obi-Wan.”

He turned at the familiar voice, smiling at the blue projection of Qui-Gon. “Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “We have much to discuss.” He gestured to the meditation mats beside the windows, and Ben obediently sat. Qui-Gon sat as well, hovering slightly over the mat itself. Projections rarely could get it quite right, their interactions with the living world. It took a great deal of concentration simply to keep oneself from floating  _ through  _ things—or people. Luke had been upset with him for that one, telling him that it felt like his skin was buzzing hot and cold at the same time. Ben had taken great care to ensure that he did not do so again.

“I am not him,” Qui-Gon began, sounding apologetic. Ben simply nodded.

“Of course you aren’t,” he agreed. “I’m dreaming. Though  _ how,  _ I’m not sure. The dead don’t sleep.”

“You aren’t dead,” Qui-Gon corrected him gently. Ben blinked at him, unconsciously reaching up to rub at his collarbone, where he had felt Anakin’s ‘saber— “I am a manifestation of the Force, taking a form you would accept.”

“I see,” Ben said slowly.

“You are not dead,” Qui-Gon repeated firmly. “The Force has given you a chance to bring change.”

Ben frowned. “To change  _ what? _ We  _ won— _ it was a costly victory, yes, but we  _ won.  _ The Sith were defeated.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “They were. But on the path there, the Force itself was wounded. Just as wounded as you were.”

Ben did not need to ask what that meant. His stomach churned, ice wrapping around his heart from old grief. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the feeling of the lights that represented his family in the Force winking out, one by one, until there was only an aching, empty darkness where the Jedi had once been.

“You’ve been given a chance to heal what was hurt,” Qui-Gon said. “To fix what was broken, and return what was taken. Will you take it?”

“Of course I would take such a chance,” Ben sighed. “But I’m  _ dead,  _ Qui-Gon. It  _ happened,  _ and there is no changing it.”

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “You’ve forgotten one of the first lessons you were meant to learn in the creche, Padawan,” he murmured. “All things are possible, with the Force.”

* * *

Ben woke with a start, frowning to himself. He sighed and rolled out of the bunk, padding out into the ship proper, not bothering to grab his ‘saber or put his cloak back on. It was the night cycle on the ship, now, all of the lights dimmed. He made his way to the cargo hold and sat down, preparing to try to meditate.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He looked up at Lark, who was smiling at him. “We just got your boy down.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “And I did sleep, for a time.” Lark nodded easily, moving to lean up against a crate, folding his arms over his chest. The Force prodded at him, and Ben sighed. “What year is it?”

Lark frowned at him, but answered slowly, “7923 C.R.C.”

Ben’s heart skipped another beat. The Force swirled around him, whispering  _ truth  _ and  **_change._ ** But it couldn’t be—

_ All things are possible, with the Force. _

“...I see.”

Lark tilted his head. “Look, I’m no  _ mir’baar’ur,  _ but if you want to talk about it…”

_ Not yet,  _ the Force whispered.  _ Not the whole truth. _ “I have… visions,” Ben admitted the partial-truth slowly. “Incredibly lifelike dreams of possible futures. At times, it becomes… muddled together. I sometimes find myself not realizing the current year, or what events have, or have not, happened yet.”

Lark grimaced. “That sounds… horrible.”

“It is rather unpleasant, and disorienting,” Ben agreed mildly. Lark nodded.

“That does explain why you’re acting like a shell-shocked cadet,” he joked. Ben smiled, and vaguely wondered how old he appeared to be. Did he  _ look  _ like a cadet? Like a young man again? He could tell he wasn’t Old Ben, Wizard of the Wastes, yet—his joints felt far too comfortably young for that. “Can I ask you something?” Ben shrugged. “Why did you leave the  _ Jetiise? _ ”

Ben closed his eyes. He  _ hadn’t,  _ not that final time. “There was no one for me to return to,” he finally answered slowly, grief weighing his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Lark said, voice soft and gentle, “about whoever it is you lost. I know what grief looks like, and you’re drowning in it.”

_ Force,  _ to have someone  _ acknowledge it,  _ and be  _ sympathetic  _ towards him… It broke a part of Ben’s heart that he hadn’t realized he’d been shoring up. On Tatooine, there were a few who guessed who he was, in the early days, before he no longer looked much like Jedi High General Obi-Wan Kenobi anymore, and the reactions had been mixed. Some had given him sad smiles, but many more had spat on him, had cursed his name, and had told him how glad they were that his kind were dead.

It had  _ hurt,  _ but it had been no less than Ben had expected, with the lies the Empire had told about them, with the blame of the war that had cleaved the galaxy in two resting on the Order’s shoulders.

And now this  _ Mandalorian  _ was the first one to offer simple  _ compassion,  _ and Ben’s heart ached, his eyes growing misty. He smiled.

“Thank you. The Order discourages attachment, but… they were my family,” he whispered. “They encouraged our bonds with each other, never thinking about the possibility that one day, those very bonds would be what broke us.”

Because it had been  _ that,  _ after everything, that had broken Ben. He had been glad to shed the name Obi-Wan Kenobi, because he  _ wasn’t  _ that man anymore. He was just tired, hurt  _ Ben,  _ old before his time, broken by the deaths of his family. He thought of Depa, broken far earlier by her attachment to the Jedi, and her men, and watching them fall to the Separatists had broken her, leading to a spectacular Fall. He thought of Qui-Gon, rushing ahead to fight the Sith himself in the hope of protecting  _ him.  _ He thought of Krell, Falling because he could no longer accept the kind of people the Jedi had become. He thought of Dooku, broken by Galidraan, by Komari Vosa, by Qui-Gon’s death.

The Jedi were already attached, and the Sith had taken advantage of it.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Lark asked softly, moving to sit near him. The Force whispered  _ peace, comfort,  _ **_help._ ** Ben sighed.

“My Master was killed, and my Grandmaster left the Order in his own grief,” Ben said slowly. “My Master left behind the boy who should have been his next apprentice; he should have been my Padawan-brother. Instead, I took him on. I was too young, and we were both grieving. But it was my Master’s last request, that he be trained, and the other Knights and Masters had already rejected the boy. Neither of us had much choice. He was… he was like my brother, and yet like my son, and in the end… In the end, he Fell. He turned to the Dark Side, and killed other Jedi. I was forced to raise my lightsaber against my  _ own Padawan. _ ”

He buried his face in his hands. Distilling the story down to that, to its essence, made it seem so starkly painful. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You loved him,” Lark murmured. Ben  _ burned  _ with shame, because he  _ had,  _ but he wasn’t supposed to. Not the selfish, self-absorbed love that he and Anakin had developed. But they had both been grieving, and Anakin had missed his mother, and their bond had been forged in that grief. It had led to  _ possession,  _ Ben knew. Coveting, on both of their parts.

Ben had been attached to Anakin, and that was why the boy had never learned to let go of his  _ own  _ attachments. In that sense, Ben was solely responsible for his Fall.

“I can see why you had to leave, after all of that,” Lark sighed. “They were like your family, and with half of your family gone or dead, and your own apprentice betraying you like that… We’ve heard plenty of similar stories, in the  _ Haat Mando’ade.  _ With the divisions, Clans and Houses are being torn apart, forced to choose sides between us,  _ Kyr’tsad,  _ or the New Mandalorians. It’s heartbreaking. That’s what happened to my son—his parents joined  _ Kyr’tsad,  _ and he knew it wasn’t right. He ran to us, and I took him in. He was just ten.”

“My Padawan was nine, when I took him on,” Ben murmured. “And unconventional—Jedi are not meant to know their birth families, but he had come late to the Order. He remembered his mother.”

Lark nodded slowly. “I know that struggle. It was hard for Khivada to reconcile his memories of them. He loved them, and they loved him, but then they joined  _ Kyr’tsad,  _ and let them start to train him. They torture their cadets, and he couldn’t understand why they would let that happen to him if they loved him.” Softer, he added, “I’m sure you did the best you could. You clearly cherish  _ adiik’e. _ ”

“That almost makes it worse,” Ben huffed, finally taking his hands away from his face. “That simply means that  _ I  _ wasn’t enough.”

“He failed you, you know,” Lark said. “From what you’ve told me, he failed you far more than you failed him. You took him in as family should, and he spat in your face.”

Ben frowned at that, but found he had no answer. Wasn’t that what he’d always told Qui-Gon about Xanatos? That Xanatos had failed  _ him,  _ rather than the other way around?

He sighed again, and Lark stood slowly. “If you can’t get back to sleep, how about some food? We’ve got plenty of  _ tiingilar  _ left.”

Finally, Ben smiled.  _ Tiingilar  _ brought back fond memories—him and Satine and Qui-Gon running from Death Watch on Mandalore, accepting meals from the few they found who would help them, and memories of the war, his men…

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

“I can add some tubers, to make it less spicy.”

Ben smiled serenely. “Oh, there’s no need for that.”

Lark raised an eyebrow at him, clearly dubious. Ben only chuckled. Little did he know.

* * *

Lark watched as Ben all but wolfed down the  _ tiingilar,  _ humming in satisfaction. His eyes weren’t even watering.

“How do you know Mando’a?” Lark asked. “Didn’t think it was a language the  _ Jetiise  _ would teach.”

“They don’t,” Ben answered between bites. “I learned from  _ Mando’ade.  _ I spent a year on  _ Manda’yaim,  _ in my youth.”

Lark frowned. “What were  _ Jetiise  _ doing on  _ Manda’yaim? _ ”

Ben shrugged. “The New Mandalorian movement was just beginning, back then. The Senate wanted us to help them. They heard ‘peace’ and decided they were the best faction to side with, without taking into consideration the fact that their policies would erase over a millennium’s cultural development.”

Lark grinned at that. “You clearly don’t agree.”

“Of course not. There is more than one way to kill someone, and taking away the identity of Mandlore… It would be the same as executing you, forcing you to give up your  _ beskar’gam,  _ to give up the  _ Resol’nare. _ It would kill a part of your soul in ways  _ pacifists  _ cannot understand, and would be a sort of violence in its own right. I can’t conscience such a thing.”

“Good to know,” Lark said slowly. “When we arrive on  _ Manda’yaim… _ ” Ben looked up from his bowl again, likely hearing Lark’s hesitation in his voice. He sighed. “I just want to warn you, so you’re not… alarmed. But once I explain your situation, and ask for the  _ mir’baar’ur,  _ they’ll separate you from Obi-Wan. You’ll be allowed to see him, of course, but he won’t be in your care, not until you’ve been cleared.”

Ben nodded. “Perfectly sensible. I know how  _ Mando’ade  _ feel about children, and have no problem entrusting him to your care while I am… indisposed.”

Lark nodded back slowly, relief filling him. He had been able to see from the moment he’d set eyes on Ben that the man was a warrior, despite how young he looked—maybe barely thirty at the oldest, Lark would guess, though much of his face was hidden behind a neat beard—and if he’d chosen to put up a fight at being separated from the kid, it would have been ugly.

“I presume we will be landing in Keldabe?” Ben asked. Lark nodded.

“Have you been before?”

Ben hummed and waved a hand. “As I said, it was a very long time ago, now. And I am more familiar with Sundari.”

Lark nodded; that made sense, if the Senate had sent the  _ Jetiise  _ to help the New Mandalorians. “I’ll show you around Keldabe, then.”

Ben smiled wanly. “That sounds lovely.  _ Vor’e. _ ”

* * *

Jaster wasn’t sure  _ what  _ to make of this situation. He stared at Lark, frowning thoughtfully.

“And he says he’s not a  _ Dar’Jetii,  _ but he’s not a  _ Jetii,  _ either?” Jaster clarified. Lark nodded.

“ _ ‘Lek, Alor.  _ He had good reasons for leaving the Order,” Lark said, something sad in his eyes. “The man who trained him, who basically raised him as a  _ buir  _ would have, was killed. His  _ ba’buir  _ left the Order himself, after that. There was a boy that his  _ buir  _ was meant to train, but he was killed before he could. Ben took him on, but the boy Fell to the Dark Side—like a  _ Dar’Jetii,  _ from what I can figure. Ben said he killed other  _ Jetiise,  _ and Ben was forced to fight him. He didn’t come out and say it, but I suspect he killed him.”

Jaster nodded slowly, grimacing. That would be enough to break a man, he thought. It wasn’t terribly surprising he left the  _ Jetiise  _ after all of it. “And the  _ adiik? _ ”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Lark said, smiling now. “Quiet, a little skittish, at times, but that’s no surprise, given how his  _ dar’buir  _ felt about him. He said he could  _ feel  _ that she didn’t love him, that she was afraid of him.”

Jaster frowned. “Their… Force?”

“ _ ‘Lek. _ ”

Jaster sighed, and nodded. “And what, exactly, are you sponsoring them for? Residence, citizenship?”

“For now, just medical care,” Lark sighed. “Ben needs a  _ mir’baar’ur.  _ He’s the definition of a traumatic stress response case.”

“I can imagine,” Jaster murmured. The kind of trauma Ben had been through was bound to leave some serious scars. He nodded again. “I agree. Your petition is granted. Now, I should meet our new friends, shouldn’t I?”

* * *

Ben was younger than Jaster had expected. They found him sitting in the courtyard, under the watchful but unobtrusive gazes of several of the  _ Haat Mando’ade.  _ He had the little one in his lap, and was pointing at different things, naming them softly in Mando’a for the boy.

They both looked up at Jaster’s approach, and Ben looked like he was going to stand up, but the boy curled into Ben, leaning away from Jaster slightly. Slowly, he pulled off his helmet and crouched down, smiling gently at them.

“ _ Su’cuy, _ ” he said softly. The child blinked at him; Ben bowed his head.

“ _ Mand’alor. _ ” Jaster nodded back before directing his attention to the  _ adiik. _

“How old are you,  _ ad’ika? _ ” Jaster asked softly. Obi-Wan blinked at him and then held up three fingers. He nodded, smiling slightly. He was barely an  _ adiik,  _ nearly an  _ ikaad  _ skill.

“How old’re you?” Obi-Wan asked softly. Jaster grinned as Ben made a strangled little noise.

“I don’t have enough fingers to show you,” Jaster answered. Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide.

“Wow,” he said, “Tha’s  _ old. _ ” Behind him, Jaster heard Montross snort and Liika howl with laughter. Obi-Wan smiled too, probably not understanding why, but their laughter making him grin. Obi-Wan twisted around to look at Ben. “Do you have enough fingers?”

“I have ten of them, just as you do, which I would say is enough,” Ben answered. Obi-Wan frowned, realizing that had not answered his question, but Ben looked back to Jaster.

“Lark explained what you told him,” Jaster said. Ben nodded stiffly, and he recognized the look in the man’s eyes as  _ grief.  _ “We’ll give you both whatever help you need.”

“ _ Vor entye, _ ” Ben answered, smiling tightly at him. Jaster nodded back.

“ _ N’entye.  _ Let’s get you both to the  _ ba’ruur’e. _ ”

* * *

Ben was finally alone, and it was as distressing as it was a relief. He was quite accustomed to being alone, after nineteen years as a desert hermit, but he hadn’t realized how grounding the company of little Obi-Wan and the Mandalorians had been until they were gone.

The room in the medical wing they had given him was quite nice (that they had rooms like this ready had concerned him, and then saddened him when the healers had explained that they were usually meant for those who were rescued from Death Watch to stay in while they recovered enough to be released). The bed was spacious, and there was an attached ‘fresher. Ben had certainly done with fewer comforts many times before. They hadn’t even bothered with Force suppressants, or shielding the room, since he was a willing patient. He understood why he was restricted to the medical ward unless he had a Mandalorian escort; until he was cleared by their mind healers, he was a possible danger. Ben could not even disagree with  _ that,  _ either. Who knew when he might have an inconveniently timed flashback?

Sighing, Ben pulled off his boots, setting them neatly beside the bed, shrugged off his cloak and laid it out on the bed as an extra blanket, and then settled on the floor to meditate.

It was 7923 C.R.C., apparently, and that meant Ben had a good deal to think about.

He didn’t stop to ponder  _ how  _ this had happened, knowing that the only answer that he would get was that it was the Force, which he already knew. Nor did Ben stop to question the veracity of it—he could feel it, both in the  _ reassurance  _ and  _ truth  _ echoing in the Force around him, and in the blatant evidence of the tens of thousands of  _ Lights  _ all across the galaxy.

The Jedi were alive. They were alive, and Ben could go home—

The Force seemed to sigh at him, even as it whispered  _ change  _ again.

Change  _ what? _

He received no answer, and let out a long breath. He would have to work through that question himself. Alright, then. Where to start?

Well, with the new knowledge of the current date, the circumstances under which he had found Obi-Wan on Stewjon sounded far less like  _ similar  _ circumstances to his own and more like the  _ exact same circumstances.  _ That led to the uncomfortable realization that the boy he had saved was probably  _ himself,  _ and that the woman had been his mother.

That was… not a topic Ben wanted to go near, not yet. Shoving it aside, he focused on what else he knew.

The Force itself had guided him to Lark and his son, and in turn, here to Mandalore. But  _ why?  _ If he was in the past, and the Force wished him to  _ change  _ things, then why not take him back to the Order? Why  _ Mandalore?  _ Why lead him to a planet known for its  _ Jedi killers  _ if the Force meant for him to change their fate?

Ben’s mind shuddered to a halt— _ Jedi killers.  _ Mandalorians were known for their prowess in battle against Force-users. Of course, that was why the Sith had supported Death Watch until it was no longer convenient for them, why they had made sure that when the time came to seize power, Mandalore was in no position to challenge them.

And, in the end, Mandalore had suffered the same fate as the Jedi. Mandalore itself was rendered completely uninhabitable, all of the domes destroyed, and stripped for its  _ beskar  _ before its citizens were slaughtered, New Mandalorians and Death Watch alike.

Was the Sith allied with Death Watch even now? Were events already in motion for the downfall of Mandalore, as they were for the Order?

Ben sighed. That wasn’t helpful. He needed first to decide what he was meant to  _ do  _ here. He reached for the Force again.

_ You want Mandalore in a position to stand against the Sith.  _ The Force whispered truth.  _ And you want me to help them in order for that to be possible. _

_ Change,  _ the Force said again, sounding satisfied.  _ Help them, and they will help you. _

Ben sighed. He knew what the Force wanted of him, but he still thought longingly of the Temple—it wouldn’t be smouldering, now. Its pillars would stand tall and bright, and there would be no bodies in the hallways, no feeble, retired Elders lying on the ground, no  _ younglings with lightsaber wounds— _

He remembered the security video, and that heartbreaking moment in the Council Chambers, when the few younglings who had made it there looked at Anakin with such  _ hope,  _ and so much  _ fear,  _ but they hadn’t been afraid of  _ him,  _ even though they should have been.

“ _ Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do? _ ”

The youngling had flinched as Anakin ignited his ‘saber, and then—

“ _ Udesii,  _ Ben, that’s it. Focus on my voice. It’s okay,  _ udesii.  _ You’re safe now, it’s alright. You’re on  _ Manda’yaim,  _ in Keldabe. You’re in your own room, in our medical ward. You’re safe, and your little one is safe with the other foundlings, for now. That’s good, just keep breathing.” Ben slowly calmed as he listened to the voice, slowing coming back to himself.

There were gentle hands on his wrists, holding them lightly, and Ben felt tears on his cheeks. He blinked at the woman crouched in front of him, a pretty human or near-human with pale hair and bright eyes.

“Back with me?” she asked softly. Ben nodded jerkily. She squeezed his wrists and let go, though she shifted herself so she was sitting cross-legged, just like he was, with their knees barely brushing to give him some further grounding contact. Ben wiped away his tears slowly, focusing on his breathing. She gave him a moment before speaking again. “I’m Tala Venn, House Kryze. I’m going to be your  _ mir’ba’ruur,  _ if you’re alright with that.” Ben nodded slowly, and she smiled. Ben could see the faint family resemblance to Adonai and Satine Kryze, with her bright blonde hair, though her eyes were more like Bo-Katan’s. It was strange to realize that both of them would be  _ babies  _ right now. “We weren’t meant to meet until tomorrow morning, but needs must, hmm?” Ben chuckled at that. “Flashback, I’m guessing?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his smile fading.

She nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ben chuckled dryly. “Not at all. But I realize I must,” he answered slowly. “What do you already know?”

“Everything you told Lark Kordo.”

Ben nodded slowly, looking down at their knees, still lightly pressed together. “I said that my Padawan killed other Jedi. That… included younglings. They weren’t even old enough to have had lightsaber training yet. They were completely defenseless, and he—” He broke off, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We heard about how you saved Ob’ika. It’s obvious how much you care about  _ ade. _ ” Ben nodded, swallowing hard. “Why did he do it?”

“He Fell,” Ben answered softly. “He thought—he had married, against the explicit rules of the Order. Relationships are allowed, but nothing so binding as a marriage. His wife was pregnant, and he had horrible visions of her death, and the deaths of the twins she was carrying. Another Dark Side user had convinced him that he could save her, if my Padawan Fell, and joined him. His price was… us. The Order.”

Tala was quiet for a long moment, and then she asked, “Did you kill him?”

Ben flinched, closing his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I  _ couldn’t,  _ even knowing what he’d done. Oh, we fought, and I won, but he lived, though he was more machine than man, after that.” He shook his head. “I should have. I think… if I had known he would survive, I think I might have.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Ben,” she said gently. “That boy was like your son, or your brother, from what I’ve heard. You know, I’ve talked to a few patients in shockingly similar situations to yours. There’s a teenager, Myles—he’ll be in your therapy group, when you’re ready for that—who ran away from  _ Kyr’tsad  _ a few weeks ago. His entire family is allied with them, but his older brother—a full adult already—wanted to walk away. Their parents killed him for it, and they didn’t stop there. They killed his  _ riduur  _ and their  _ adiik,  _ too. Myles saw that that wasn’t right, and came to us. It’s been difficult for him, trying to reconcile how he loves them with what they did. His  _ vod’ad  _ was only four, and they killed her.”

“ _ Dar’Manda shabuir’e, _ ” Ben muttered darkly. Tala nodded.

“Yes, they are. But what I’m getting at, Ben, is that you’re not alone,” she said softly. “We  _ understand  _ how you can still love someone who’s done horrible things. We understand why you couldn’t actually bring yourself to put him down.”

“I can’t help but wonder if it never would have happened if my Master had been able to train him, if he’d lived to see it through,” Ben murmured. “If he could have been saved, if everyone he killed could have been spared—”

“There’s no point in what if’s, Ben,” Tala said gently, and Ben wanted to scream, because now there  _ was.  _ Now his past was stretched out in front of him as his future, as  _ Obi-Wan’s  _ future, but how could he explain that to her? He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze, and frowned. He knew that look—it was the same fiery determination all Mandalorians wore when they were prepared to be  _ stubborn  _ about something. “You loved him as your  _ aliit,  _ yes?” Ben nodded slowly. “Did you raise him as well as you could?”

“I tried—”

“Did you do your best?”

“I did.”

Tala nodded decisively. “Then you did not fail him. You took him in when your  _ buir  _ died, and you loved him, and did your best to raise him right. He failed  _ you,  _ Ben. Not the other way around.”

Ben sighed. “You’ll forgive me if I can’t accept that, I’m sure.”

Tala snorted. “I will. I’m a mind healer; I know that wounds like this don’t heal overnight, and not without a lot of help. Are you willing to work with me to get there?”

Ben nodded slowly. “Yes. Thank you for your help.”

She smiled prettily at him, and Ben blanched at the ghost of Satine looking back at him in that smile. “You never have to thank me, Ben. Not for this.”

* * *

_ Two years later _

* * *

“To summarize,” Jaster said, rubbing absently at his temple as he spoke; state meetings had a tendency to give him headaches, which he thought was understandable, since they took  _ all day,  _ “we’re still waiting on the reports from Kalevala before we can move on the intel on Concord Dawn. We’ll give it another day or so, but if we haven’t heard anything yet by evening meal tomorrow, then we’ll send scouting parties to both Kalevala and Concord Dawn. We’ll root out  _ Kyr’tsad,  _ one way or another _. _ ” A round of approving nods went around the table, and he nodded back. “Please tell me that was the last bit of business.”

“Not quite,” Liika sighed, giving him a lopsided smile. “Sorry, there’s just one more thing. Well, two, technically.” Jaster waved a hand at her and then brought both hands up to rub at either side of his head. He made a mental note to ask the  _ ba’ruur’e  _ for painkillers straight away, to ensure this didn’t grow into another migraine. “First,  _ Mir’baar’ur  _ Venn reports that Ben Kenobi is ready to leave the program.” Jaster hummed—that was good news. They had started slowly with him, allowing him twice-daily, supervised contact with Obi-Wan until he proved that he wouldn’t be a danger to the boy; then they had moved them both into shared quarters attached to the medical wing, though they spent most of the day apart, Ben in long sessions with Venn, and Obi-Wan in class with the other  _ ade.  _ Finally, they were ready to move into a home of their own, away from the medical ward.

“ _ Jate, _ ” Jaster said, nodding. “I trust her judgement. If she says he’s ready, then I approve.”

“I’ll let her know,” Liika answered, nodding. “The other matter… Ben wants a word with you.” Jaster frowned—Ben knew he could approach Jaster whenever he liked, so for him to  _ request  _ a meeting meant that this was an official matter.

“Alright. When?”

“As soon as possible, he said.”

Jaster sighed; his day was about to get longer.. “Someone fetch him.”

“Right away,  _ Alor. _ ”

* * *

Ben stood calmly before the Council, and Jaster couldn’t help but notice how much better he looked than the first time they’d met. His eyes were not nearly as shadowed, and he was actually near a healthy weight. Ironically, he looked even younger than he had then, now that he seemed to be carrying fewer burdens.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he said politely, nodding to them. Jaster nodded in return. “I have information for you on the current whereabouts of  _ Kyr’tsad. _ ”

Jaster frowned as murmuring started, and he held up a hand for silence. “How did you come by it?”

Ben smiled tightly. “A vision.”

“Ah,” Jaster said flatly. Venn had told them that Ben had visions—some came true, and others did not. Some were warnings, and could be changed, while others were inevitable. He felt the skepticism from the others, but nodded to Ben. “Tell us what you saw.”

“Concord Dawn,” he answered immediately. Jaster raised an eyebrow at Montross, who colored slightly. He had insisted that his sources said  _ Kyr’tsad  _ had fled to Kalevala, but Jaster thought the evidence pointed to Concord Dawn. “There was a name: Jango Fett. He is important—or, he will be.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Clan Fett has many members on Concord Dawn,” he hummed. “But since you have a first name, we should be able to find them without much trouble. What did you see?”

“A battle,” he said slowly. “ _ Kyr’tsad  _ took heavy losses, and you thought them dead and gone. They weren’t, however, merely retreating to the shadows, for now.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll send everyone who’s available to Concord Dawn tomorrow morning. We’ll find the Fetts you saw.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, bowing his head as if he wasn’t the one doing  _ them  _ a favor, warning them. It was one of the many reasons Jaster had come to like him. “I do have one request.” Jaster waved a hand in invitation. “I’m sure you’ve heard the good news?”

“Yes, you’re being cleared. Congratulations,” Jaster said. It hit him, then—he hadn’t thought of it in  _ years,  _ but Lark  _ had  _ promised that Ben could leave, and take Ob’ika with him, once the  _ mir’baar’ur  _ cleared him. He felt unease, almost dread, pooling in his belly.

He needn’t have worried, because the next words out of Ben’s mouth were: “Since I’ve been cleared, I would like to go with you to Concord Dawn.”

Another round of murmuring went up at that. It had only been about eighteen months ago that Ben had been cleared to spar, and the man was an absolute  _ menace.  _ He refused to use his  _ Jetii’kad  _ when he sparred against any of the  _ Haat Mando’ade,  _ and he was good without it, but what Jaster saw from the man’s practice against droids was damned impressive.

Jaster looked at him for a long moment before tilting his head thoughtfully. “You wish to fight with us.”

“ _ Elek. _ ”

“Is this is a one-mission request?” Jaster asked, pressing his luck.

“... _ nayc, Alor, _ ” Ben answered slowly. Jaster felt a little thrum of pleasure at the man he tentatively considered a friend acknowledging his title. “I have sought counsel from the Force for the last few years on the path before me. The Force is clear: I was brought here, to Mandalore, for a  _ reason.  _ There will, eventually, be other places I must go, but I will return, as long as you will accept me back.”

Jaster studied him for a long moment. So Ben wanted to stay, and he wanted to fight with them. Jaster rose slowly from his seat, walking around the long table, his advisors waiting with bated breath for his answer. Jaster stopped just in front of Ben, the man turning fully to him. There was a bright, fiery spark to his eyes, and Jaster knew, then, what he was planning.

He had made this official business so that  _ everyone  _ would witness this moment. Ben knew what Jaster would ask, and Jaster, staring into his eyes, already knew his answer.

“Will you swear?” he asked. The air around them seemed to fill with an electric charge of anticipation, and then Ben, with his gaze never leaving Jaster’s, went down to one knee and pressed his right fist over his chest.

“ _ Ba’jur bal beskar’gam; ara’nov, aliit; Mando’a bal Mand’alor: an vencuyan mhi. _ ”

Jaster grinned at him, and Ben grinned back. “ _ Ke’moti, Mando’ad. _ ” He held out a hand, and Ben clasped it, hand-to-wrist. Jaster slapped him on the back with his other hand. “We’ll need to see the armorer immediately, if we’re to get you  _ beskar’gam  _ in time. Give some thought to your colors?”

Ben’s grin was toothy. “I already know what I’d like.”

* * *

Ben looked damn good in  _ beskar’gam,  _ Jaster thought—he looked like a proper  _ Mando’ad,  _ now. He wore it as though he was already used to it, the weight a second skin. He had chosen his colors well, too: the armor was mostly green, for duty, with a black mythosaur on his right pauldron, for justice. The edges were trimmed in white, for new beginnings.  _ Cin vhetin. _

But he  _ really  _ didn’t envy his friend right now, grateful for once that he  _ didn’t  _ have any children of his own as he watched five-year-old, normally perfectly behaved and blessedly calm, Obi-Wan on the verge of a tantrum.

“I wanna go with  _ you, buir! _ ”

“Ob’ika…” Ben sighed, crouching down. “Did someone dishonor me by giving you your  _ verdgoten  _ already?” Jaster smothered a laugh, already realizing where Ben was going with this. Obi-Wan, however, did not, and his eyes widened.

“ _ Nayc!  _ Of course not!”

“Then you can’t come with me,” Ben said, nodding as though this was quite reasonable. Obi-Wan did not agree.

“But I can  _ do stuff!  _ Stuff that nobody else can,” Obi-Wan insisted. “I can  _ help! _ ”

Ben nodded. “Yes, you can. When you’re older, and you’ve had more training. But for now,  _ verd’ika,  _ I have another very important job for you.” Obi-Wan straightened up at that, and Ben studied him for a moment to make sure he was paying attention. “I’ve been cleared by  _ Mir’baar’ur  _ Tala. We can move together now, to a proper home. While I’m gone, she offered to take you to see the potential houses. I’m trusting you to pick the right one for us, and help them move us in, alright?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide again. “Really?  _ I  _ get to pick?”

“You get to pick,” Ben confirmed, nodding. Obi-Wan nodded back solemnly.

“I’ll listen to the Force, and pick the one it says is good,” Obi-Wan promised. Ben nodded again.

“That’s all I can ask, Ob’ika. We should be back in a few weeks at the most, alright?” Obi-Wan pouted slightly again, but nodded. “I’ll comm when I can. Be good for your  _ ba’vodu. _ ”

“I will. Don’t get hurt, okay?”

Ben smiled. “I will do my best not to.”

“Pinky promise,” Obi-Wan demanded, putting out his pinky. Ben wrapped his own around it, looking far more solemn than he should for such a moment. Jaster bit the inside of his cheek to clamp down on his laughter—it was an amusing image, a  _ Mando’ad  _ in nearly full  _ beskar’gam,  _ just missing his  _ buy’ce,  _ kneeling and solemnly pinky promising a small child.

“ _ Ba’vodu _ ?” Obi-Wan said when he let go of Ben’s pinky. He looked up at Jaster expectantly, and Jaster tilted his head. Obi-Wan frowned at him, and then held out his pinky. “You have to promise too.”

“ _ Wayii, _ ” Jaster sighed, but he stepped forward and knelt as Ben rose. He glanced at his friend, and Ben gave him a shit-eating grin and a shrug. Jaster was going to go hard on him, the next time they sparred.

* * *

They found the homestead quickly enough, and Jaster determined that only four of them would approach the Fett farm. “No need to scare them,” Jaster explained with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not even sure which way they swing. Not like  _ that,  _ Liika, don’t be a child.” He rolled his eyes under the cover of his helmet, waiting for Liika’s snickering to die down. “Half of House Fett is allied with the New Mandalorians. We don’t know if they’ll be friendly to us or not. Keep your guard up, but be polite. Ben, Montross, and Liika, you’re with me. Liika, don’t make me regret bringing you.”

Jaster knocked on the door and waited for an answer; it was late enough in the afternoon that they should be done with the farmwork, and back in the house, not in the fields somewhere.

A pretty woman with olive skin and long, dark hair, curly, but pulled back into a neat braid, answered the door. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then bowed her head, pressing her fist across her chest.

“ _ Mand’alor, _ ” she greeted him. Well, Jaster thought with a smile, that certainly settled the matter of whose side they were on.

“Nalia Fett?” he asked, and she nodded. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping further inside to allow them to enter. She showed them to the living room, inviting them to sit. “Please, give me a moment to fetch my  _ riduur. _ ”

Jaster nodded, and she disappeared up the stairs. A moment later, a young girl, probably a teenager, left the kitchen. She was the spitting image of her mother.

“ _ Su’cuy, _ ” Jaster called, pulling off his helmet. The others slowly did the same, following his lead. He smiled at her. “Come.” She came immediately, standing just in front of him. She pressed her fist to her chest.

“ _ Mand’alor!  _ It’s really you,” she said, sounding somewhat dazed, a broad smile on her face. “I can’t believe it!”

Jaster chuckled. “Yes, it’s really me.  _ Tion’gar gai? _ ”

“Arla, Clan and House Fett.”

“Well met, Arla,” Jaster answered. Behind her, he saw movement, and he leaned to the side. There was a younger boy, probably barely a teen, standing there. Jaster beckoned for him to join them as well. He did, though slower than Arla, looking at them with a strangely calm, assessing gaze for someone his age. “ _ Su’cuy. Tion’gar gai? _ ”

“Jango, Clan and House Fett,” he answered, pressing his fist to his chest just as his mother and sister had. Jaster grinned at him, and then his gaze flicked to Ben, whose gaze looked a little… faraway, the way Jaster had come to realize he always looked when he was reaching for the Force. One of his visions, maybe.

“ _ Mand’alor. _ ” Jaster turned to the new voice; this must be Kev Fett. The man pressed his fist to his chest as all the others had, and bowed his head. “What can we do for you?” It was not, Jaster was pleased to note, an idle question. If Jaster asked them to fight  _ Kyr’tsad,  _ they would. He could hear it in the man’s voice, see it in the steel of his eyes and the straightening of his shoulders.

“We have information that  _ Kyr’tsad  _ is near here,” Jaster explained. The Fetts all tensed. “We hope to engage them, but needed to warn you first. The fighting is likely to be close to here, if not on the farmstead itself.”

Kev nodded and turned to his  _ riduur.  _ “Take the children to their  _ ba’buir,  _ in Kembaa.”

Nalia raised her chin. “Their  _ ba’buir  _ can come to fetch them himself,” she said flatly. “I am not leaving.”

“Neither am I,” Jango said. Jaster sighed, eyeing the kid again. He had spirit, this one, but he was too karking young.

“How far is Kembaa from here?” Ben asked suddenly.

“Less than ten kliks, about twenty minutes on a speeder,” Kev answered. Ben nodded and turned back to Jango and Arla. He left his position on the couch to kneel in front of them, just about eye-level with Jango.

“There is going to be a hard battle ahead of us,” he told them honestly. “Many  _ Haat Mando’ade  _ will be hurt—no matter how good we all are,  _ Kyr’tsad  _ are very dangerous. We will not come out of this unscathed. It would be a great help to us if you could warn those loyal to the  _ Mand’alor  _ in Kembaa that we will need their assistance, and have medical help waiting for us there. Just as many lives can be saved by good  _ baar’ur’e  _ as an effective  _ verd. _ Can you help with that?”

Jaster smiled. It was an important job, sure, but one that would keep them safe, and away from the fighting. The man was good with children, Jaster had known that for a long time, but every time he watched him interact with  _ ade,  _ it brought a grin to his face.

Both children looked to their parents, who nodded, and then to Jaster. He nodded as well.

“Ben is right: this is a very important job. You know them better than we do, and you know who is loyal to us,” Jaster said. They both nodded eagerly.

“I just got my permit—I can take Jan’ika and I there on one of the speeders tonight, to start getting ready,” Arla said, nodding firmly. “When should we tell them to… expect you?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Ben answered, rising from his crouched position.

Jango still looked unhappy, and Jaster was about to say something to him, but Ben got there first. “Jango, we have a few spare commlinks we can give you, if you’d like to help me get them from the ship?”

Jango nodded slowly and moved to follow Ben. “Arla, you should start packing,” Kev prompted her. She nodded.

“ _ ‘Lek, buir. _ ”

She strode off with the determination of a Mando, and Jaster grinned again. It faded as Kev and Nalia approached.

“We are both trained,  _ Alor, _ ” Kev said. “We will help you.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “Our plan, now that we know where  _ Kyr’tsad  _ is based, is to bait them. That way, we control the battlefield. They’re camped too close to avoid the farmstead, I fear.”

Nalia frowned at him. “This is far more important than our crops,  _ Alor. _ ”

He smiled at her a bit sadly, but nodded. “Once they realize that I’m here, they will not fail to take the bait. Tomorrow, we’re going to land in force, and make our presence known. We’ll make camp near here, and wait for them to attack.”

* * *

In the end, it happened just as Ben had said it would.  _ Kyr’tsad  _ attacked just before dawn, expecting them to still be asleep, but they were awake, and waiting for them.

It was bloody, and brutal.  _ Kyr’tsad  _ had the same training they did, and the same weapons, aside from one very major difference: Ben Kenobi.

No one had ever seen him in a real  _ fight  _ with his  _ Jetii’kad,  _ and few had ever actually watched him spar with the droids in the Keldabe stronghold. Even that did not compare to Ben Kenobi on a battlefield.

He was a whirlwind, he and his  _ kadau  _ both, dancing from place to place, swirling and leaping and flipping over people. His  _ kadau  _ deflected blaster bolts, and he managed to kill at least three  _ Kyr’tsad  _ that Jaster saw himself with their own fire. He seemed to be paying particular attention to Kev and Nalia, covering their backs, which Jaster approved of.

And Jaster knew that he would relish the  _ horrified gasps  _ of  _ Kyr’tsad  _ when Ben had first ignited the  _ kadau  _ for the rest of his days.

Jaster brought out his own  _ beskad  _ and ran it through the gap in one of the  _ Kry’tsad’s  _ armor platings, gutting him. As he fell, Jaster helped him down with a heavy boot to his chest, pulling his  _ beskad  _ back out as he fell with a wet gurgle.

And then a hush fell over the field, and Jaster turned to look—

There was Tor Vizsla, holding the Darksaber.

Jaster turned to face him as the others all made a ring—it was time, then. Single combat, a challenge between the  _ Mand’alor  _ claimed by the  _ Haat Mando’ade,  _ and the  _ Mand’alor  _ claimed by  _ Kyr’tsad. _

Jaster squared up, and then there was a hand on his arm. He looked to the side, frowning under his helmet at Ben. Ben nodded to him and pressed his  _ Jetii’kad  _ into his hands.

“Now it’s a fair fight,” Ben said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Jaster nodded to him, and Ben stepped back.

Vizsla circled, but Jaster wasn’t about to allow  _ that.  _ Now that they were finally  _ here,  _ at this moment, he was unwilling to wait any longer, and Jaster launched himself viciously at Vizsla.

Vizsla was well-trained, but it was clear to Jaster quickly that the Darksaber was more often decoration on his belt than a weapon he used. Jaster, meanwhile, had been  _ required  _ to train with a  _ beskad,  _ back when he was a Journeyman Protector. “You must learn to use every weapon that may be at your disposal,” his trainer had said. “You never know when you will need to use a weapon of opportunity, rather than a weapon of your preference.”

He was quick, which helped him to make up for many of his missteps, and Jaster fell into the rhythm of  _ slash-parry-step-turn  _ of ‘saber combat, looking for an opening. He could both hear and feel his blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating thunderously, and he scored a touch to Vizsla’s arm, which seemed to  _ enrage  _ the other man.

Vizsla came at him, then, bringing the Darksaber down in forceful, but rather sloppy strikes. Jaster waited them out, letting him tire himself, and he felt the  _ Jetii’kad  _ in his hands thrumming with power. He snarled and pushed forward, ramming his shoulder into Vizsla—not enough to hurt him, not enough to knock him down, but enough to make him stumble.

Jaster took the opportunity, bringing Ben’s  _ Jetii’kad  _ to bear, and sliced at his abdomen. Vizsla cried out and went down to one knee, dropping the Darksaber as he held his stomach, blood weeping from between his fingers.

He picked up the Darksaber and reignited it, holding both  _ kadause  _ at Vizsla’s throat in an X. “Since you’re already on one knee, you may as well swear, now.” There was an uproar from the crowd, and Vizsla spat blood at his feet. “Very well, then.”

With that, he knocked Vizsla’s head clean off of his shoulders, and it rolled to a stop several feet away. Jaster used his foot to push Vizsla’s body over onto the ground.

There was silence, and Jaster looked up. “Swear to me now, and I promise you all trials.”

After another tense moment, Jaster heard one of the  _ Kyr’tsad  _ scream, and a shot went off, and then two, and they were back in the fight.

_ Kyr’tsad,  _ at least, seemed desperate, now, and far too angry to pull themselves together to use any real tactics. The fighting was messier now, more personal, but the  _ Haat Mando’ade  _ did not falter—Jaster had the Darksaber, after all. There were few who would refute his position as rightful  _ Mand’alor,  _ now that he had it. The  _ Haat Mando’ade’s  _ ultimate victory was already assured.

Jaster looked around for Ben, finally seeing him over at the other end of the field. Ben got behind one of the  _ Kyr’tsad  _ and snapped their neck with his bare hands, and then whirled around to the next. He held out his hand, and the man’s blaster flew to him. He shot the still-stunned  _ Kyr’tsad  _ with it, and then began to move towards Jaster.

“ _ Vor’e, vod! _ ” Jaster called over the din of the fighting, handing Ben back his  _ Jetii’kad.  _ Ben immediately dropped the blaster in favor of the  _ kadau. _

“Good work,” Ben answered, pausing briefly to knock their shoulders together. Suddenly, he tensed. “ **Everyone get** **_down!_ ** ”

Jaster obeyed on instinct, and he saw Ben and  _ Kyr’tsad  _ were the only ones still standing upright, the rest of them having flattened themselves.

An explosion went off from somewhere Jaster couldn’t see, but must have been close by as his ears rung uncomfortably, and he felt a surge of  _ heat. _ That would probably hurt, later. Jaster climbed back to his feet, but the few  _ Kyr’tsad  _ who had survived were already in the air, using their jetpacks to flee like the  _ hut’uun’e  _ they were.

“Squads—”

“On it,  _ Alor, _ ” Montross said, moving to make the rounds of the injured and dead.

Jaster turned back to Ben, who had gone suddenly shock still, staring at charred point on the ground. Jaster grimaced—there were bits of charred, broken armor, bones, blood, and guts littering that area. Ben walked over slowly and picked up two pieces of the armor.

“Kev and Nalia,” he said, just loudly enough to be picked up by his vocorder. He hung his head. Jaster walked over to him and put his hand on the back of Ben’s neck.

“You did everything you could to protect them,” Jaster murmured. “But they knew the risks. It’s why we sent the  _ ade  _ away.” He grimaced and squeezed Ben’s neck lightly. “I’ll tell Jango and Arla myself. It was my call they answered.”

* * *

Arla began weeping immediately, but Jango went still, quiet, and stone-faced. Jaster sighed—he’d probably need  _ Mir’baar’ur  _ Venn’s services, when they took them back to Keldabe, which he had already resolved to do, after speaking first to their  _ ba’buir.  _ The man was old, far too old to care for the  _ ade,  _ and the man had warned them off leaving the children with any of the other Fetts in the area.

“We three were the last loyal to you around here,” the man had sighed. “The rest have given up their  _ beskar’gam,  _ as those New Mandalorian  _ hut’uun’e  _ demanded.”

Jaster knelt down, one hand on the Darksaber. “ _ Ni ceta, ade. _ ”

Arla wept harder at that, but Jango eyed him carefully. “Are they dead? The  _ shabuire  _ who killed them?”

Jaster nodded. “ _ Kyr’tsad  _ was defeated, and Tor Vizsla is dead. I took his head.” Jango nodded.

“Then  _ buir  _ would say it was worth it,” Jango said, his voice hitching slightly, but he did not start crying. “Can we be alone, please?”

Jaster smiled softly, sadly, at them, and nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

Jaster was having one of the busiest weeks of his  _ life.  _ Adonai Kryze had heard the news and reached out, asking him to hold a summit, to try to get the surrender and oaths of those Houses that had been loyal to Vizsla; he still had wounded to worry about, now recovering back in Keldabe; Jango and Arla were still quiet, pale, and sad, which hurt him to watch; Ben was rarely seen, completing the last stages of his move with Obi-Wan (and it pleased Jaster that the  _ adiik  _ had chosen the home closest to Jaster’s own of the options they’d given them).

“Ah, excuse me,  _ Alor, _ ” Naavik, a young Zabrak who had only completed his  _ verdgoten  _ two years ago. Jaster tried to smile at him, but he wasn’t quite sure how successful he was as Naavik took a half a step back. “There’s an  _ adiik  _ here to see you. The Kenobi kid.”

“Send him in,” Jaster said, his curiosity piqued. Normally where Obi-Wan went, these days, Ben followed close behind.

Obi-Wan pressed his fist against his chest briefly, and then abandoned decorum to throw himself at Jaster. Jaster leaned down to properly pick him up, settling the boy into his lap. Obi-Wan did not loosen the grip around his neck.

“Is everything alright, Ob’ika?” Jaster asked. Obi-Wan made a soft noise.

“I dunno,” he said slowly, drawing back enough to look at Jaster’s face, though he still did not let go of him. “I have to make a choice, and I don’t think I can do it alone, but  _ buir  _ said he can’t help me, because the choice needs to be mine. So I wanted to ask the  _ Mand’alor,  _ ‘cause that’s what you do, right?”

Jaster smiled. “Right you are. What choice is this?”

“ _ Buir’s  _ always been honest with me about… what I can do,” Obi-Wan said softly. “He said I’m strong in the Force, and I could… I could be a  _ Jetii.  _ If I want to.”

Jaster frowned. Ben had sworn to him, and Jaster had thought him sincere. Would he really leave them to go back to the Order?

But Obi-Wan was biting his lip, tears in his eyes, and that look quickly distracted Jaster from that line of thought. “He told me what I’d have to do. I’d have to leave everyone behind, even him. He’d take me to the  _ Jetiise,  _ to Coruscanta, but he’d leave me there and come back. But I’d have to stay with them for as long as I’m a  _ Jetii,  _ and I wouldn’t get to have any attack-ments—”

“Attachments,” Jaster corrected gently. He was well aware of that stipulation of the Order’s, having probed Ben for as much information on the Order has he could get. Despite how being a Jedi had been so painful for him, Ben still spoke of them with obvious fondness. It shouldn’t have surprised Jaster, in retrospect, that he was offering Ob’ika the choice of being a  _ Jetii  _ or not.

“ _ ‘Lek.  _ So I wouldn’t… They wouldn’t let me come home a lot,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I wouldn’t get to see you anymore. Or  _ buir,  _ or Jan’ika, or Arl’ika, or  _ ba’vodu  _ Tala, or—”

Jaster noticed his thermos of caff hovering a few inches off his desk and quickly smoothed a hand over Obi-Wan’s hair. “ _ Udesii,  _ Ob’ika. It’s alright.” He cradled him close to his chest, mindful of his armor, and Obi-Wan buried his face in Jaster’s neck. “How long do you have to make this choice?”

“A few months,” Obi-Wan answered slowly. “ _ Buir  _ said they only take human  _ adiik’e  _ under six, and I’m already five.”

Jaster hummed. “First, let’s talk through all of the options, okay?” Obi-Wan nodded into his neck and then allowed Jaster to pry him off slightly. He moved them to the sofa he kept in his office—mostly because his council had teased him about keeping an actual sleep couch in there, but he still slept in his office overnight enough that he could justify a horizontal, soft surface—and settled Obi-Wan in front of him, one hand on his leg. Obi-Wan put his own hands on top of Jaster’s. “Now, the first choice is going to the  _ Jetiise.  _ What are the pros?”

“They can teach me lots of stuff,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “And I’d get to help the whole galaxy! They can also help with my… the dreams I get.” Obi-Wan shivered, and Jaster squeezed his leg gently. He knew that Obi-Wan was already getting strong, terrifying visions—just like his  _ buir.  _ “And… the Force likes the  _ Jetiise.  _ It feels… Light, and happy when I think about them. It really likes the idea of  _ Mando’ade  _ and  _ Jetiise  _ being friends, even more than it likes just the  _ Jetiise! _ ”

That was… something to consider, Jaster thought. He had already considered it, knowing that if anyone could bridge the gap between them and the  _ Jetiise,  _ it would be Ben. But if Obi-Wan became a  _ Jetii  _ as well… There hadn’t been a Mandalorian  _ Jetii  _ since Tarre Vizsla’s day. Wouldn’t that be something?

“And the cons?”

“I’d have to leave you all behind,” Obi-Wan murmured, looking down. He said nothing further, and Jaster hummed.

“And the other option: staying here. What are the pros?”

“Well, I love you,” Obi-Wan said, so matter-of-fact that Jaster had to chuckle.

“We love you, too.”

“And I’d get to see you all the time, and  _ buir,  _ and everybody else,” Obi-Wan said. “And  _ buir  _ said he could teach me some  _ Jetii  _ stuff, but not everything, ‘cause there’s some stuff he didn’t… special?”

“Specialize.”

“ _ ‘Lek.  _ There’s some stuff he didn’t… think about a lot,” Obi-Wan said, giving up on the word. It was probably a quotation of what Ben had actually said, Jaster thought with amusement. “And if I’m not with the  _ Jetiise,  _ there wouldn’t be anyone to ask, if we had problems Ben didn’t have before, or questions, or if I wanted to learn something he hadn’t been teached.”

“Taught,” Jaster corrected gently.

“Taught,” Obi-Wan repeated, nodding. Jaster hummed.

“Sometimes, we have what seem like impossible choices in front of us,” Jaster murmured. Obi-Wan nodded. “You  _ want  _ to be a  _ Jetii,  _ don’t you?” Obi-Wan nodded again.

“I really do. I just… I’d  _ miss you,  _ I’d miss being  _ here.  _ This is  _ ner yaim, _ ” Obi-Wan said. “I didn’t like it, when you and  _ buir  _ left me behind. I didn’t like you going away from me, and if I go to the  _ Jetiise,  _ I don’t know when I’d get to see you again.”

Jaster hummed. “I think if you left us behind to be a  _ Jetii,  _ then that would be a signal to them that you can let go of attachments,” Jaster said slowly. Obi-Wan frowned curiously at him. “That’s the reason that they discourage their  _ Jetiise  _ from knowing their families—they don’t want them to develop attachments.” But if he’d already demonstrated he was willing to let go, perhaps Jaster could convince them to bend their rules a little.

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Ben said love is good, as long as it’s not selfish. We talked about you going to Concord Dawn without me, and how if I’d told you to stay, or went with you, it wouldn’t be okay. If I’d made you stay, then I would’ve been hurting other people, because they needed you to be there. And if I’d gone with you, then you would’ve both been distracted trying to take care of me, ‘cause it was dangerous. So I couldn’t be selfish, and I had t’ let you go, even though I love you. Is this the same thing?”

“Exactly right, Ob’ika,” Jaster confirmed. “You can still love us, if you become a  _ Jetii,  _ but you can’t be selfish.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, his eyes going teary again. “I think… I think staying here is the selfish choice. I think the Force is trying to tell me that there are other people who  _ need  _ me to be a  _ Jetii. _ ”

Jaster nodded slowly, a plan already forming. “We’ve talked about a lot, and it’s a big decision,” he said, squeezing Obi-Wan’s leg once more. “Why don’t you take a few days to think about it?”

A month later, Jaster found himself on a ship with Ben and a few of his council members, bound for  _ Coruscanta. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, I really like time travel and Obi-Wan Kenobi, LOL. Also, seeing Obi-Wan in armor during that whole stealing-Death Watch-beskar'gam episode was very inspiring. You can blame that episode of Clone Wars for all of this.
> 
> Also, shoutout to... I honestly can't tell you what fic I read the thing with Obi-Wan's name meaning "no-one, child of nothing" in, and the river bit, but I did not come up with the idea, and I'm going through my bookmarks to try to find the story so I can properly credit them!
> 
> UPDATE: Thank you, CallToMuster and Carly! Yes, the river and Obi-Wan Kenobi name meaning things came from Ib'tuur Jatne Tuur Ash'ad Kyr'amur by ziggyzigzagged.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and left kudos and bookmarked! I really appreciate all of them. :D I would respond to each one individually, but I don't want to inflate the comment count with my own replies. But please know that I have read all of them and really appreciate all of the reviews!
> 
> I will admit that I have other little snippets written for this particular AU, so if I can get them into something coherent, there will be more of this eventually! :)
> 
> Mando'a Key:
> 
> Su cuy'gar, Mandoade. - A polite greeting, literally means "So you're still alive, Mandalorians." Su'cuy is the shortened form  
> Tion'cuyi Haat Mando'ade? - Are you True Mandalorians?  
> Ke'hiibi kaysh. Ni gedeti. - Take him. I beg you.  
> Tion'jor? - Why?  
> Ni kaysh tegaanali. Kaysh dar'buir... - I saved him. His former parent.... (Dar'buir means no longer a parent, a name given to someone who lost that right by abusing their kids, usually.)  
> Dar'Jetii - Sith (literally no longer a Jedi, but used to mean Sith)  
> wey'cuyi Jetii - Wey is a prefix to mean past, and cuyi means to live or to be, so this is just another way of saying no longer a Jedi, but it's not what they say to mean Sith  
> Vor'e. - Thanks  
> Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> hu'tuunla shabuir'e - cowardly jerks (shabuir is stronger than jerk, probably more like asshole as far as connotation goes)  
> mir'baar'ur - mind healer (literally "brain medic")  
> Vor entye - Thank you (literally "I accept a debt")  
> Tion'gar gai? - What's your name?  
> Tiingilar - spicy Mandalorian stew or casserole, depending on what source you're looking at  
> 'Lek, Alor. - Yes, sir.  
> buir - parent  
> ba'buir - grandparent  
> adiik - child aged 3-13  
> ad'ika - affectionate, like saying "kiddo"  
> ikaad - baby  
> ba'ruur'e - medics/healers  
> ade - children  
> vod'ad - cousin (literally "sibling child")  
> Dar'Manda - No longer Mandalorian, extreme insult to a Mandalorian  
> Jetii'kad - lightsaber (literally "Jedi sword")  
> Elek - Yes  
> Nayc - No  
> Ba'jur bal beskar'gam; ara'nov, aliit; Mando'a bal Mand'alor: an vencuyan mhi. - Education and armor; self-defense, family; our language and our leader: all help us survive. (This is the Resol'nare)  
> Ke'moti, Mando'ad. - Rise, Mandalorian.  
> Cin vhetin. - Blank slate/fresh start. Literally "white field"  
> verdgoten - literally "soldier birth," it's the coming of age ritual in Mandalorian culture  
> verd'ika - little soldier  
> Ba'vodu - Uncle (can also mean aunt since Mando'a has no gendered speech)  
> Wayii - Good grief.  
> riduur - spouse  
> hut'uun'e - cowards  
> Ni ceta, ade. - I'm sorry, children. (Ni ceta is the most sincere form of an apology, literally means "I kneel")


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one requires a little bit of context! The premise for this was that Korda 6 played out differently so that Montross died and Jaster lived. Jaster living and Death Watch's plan failing meant the war was fiercer and more open warfare on Mandalore proper than it was before. That means the True Mandalorians were too busy waging war to take jobs like Galidraan, so there was never any possibility of them setting the trap with the Jedi.
> 
> So it's this Mandalore that the New Mandalorians ask the Jedi for protection in, and then my brain went here:

Arla didn’t know how long she’d been in this cell. It might have been only weeks, or it could have been months. There was no window to be able to tell, only a hard cot in a featureless room with a ‘fresher in the same room. Oh, they fed her, at least, but never at regular intervals, and the lights seemed to dim and turn off at random. She had _visitors,_ but the painful and humiliating encounters were never regular, either, and rarely the same _Kyr’tsad_ twice. She knew it was to keep her unbalanced, and so she gave up counting the days. It didn’t matter.

She’d been with _Kyr’tsad_ for years, ever since her _aliit_ died. Arla knew she’d been so _close_ to being rescued, more than a few times, as compound after compound was destroyed. She could feel the walls shake, the lights dimming and flaring, dust rising up into the air from the bombings. But each time, one of the _Kyr’tsad_ came in full _beskar’gam_ to sedate her and she woke up in another windowless, featureless cell, with no idea of where she actually _was._

Arla spent half of her time sleeping, and the other half training. She still exercised and worked her way through the hand-to-hand movements she was desperate not to forget--it was the last bit of her _aliit_ she had left, the memories of her _buir’e_ training her.

They would have trained Jango, too, if they hadn’t all been killed in the attack on the farmstead. They had barely had time to start to train her _vod’ika--_ he’d been too young. But he’d died on that farm, with her parents, and this was all she had left...

Arla sighed. She was having one of her darker days, apparently. Rising from the cot, she was about to start another round of training when the door slid open. She tensed, until she saw who was standing in the doorway, and then she frowned.

It was a young boy--a teenager, from the looks of him. He was pale, with mussed red hair, starting to curl up at the ends, and wearing a black _kute,_ though no _beskar’gam._ His eyes looked tired, a dull mix of grey, green, and blue.

“ _Tion’cuyi?_ ”

“ _Ni nu’cuyi Kyr’tsad,_ ” he said flatly. “ _Ner gai_ Ben. _Tion’gar gai?_ ”

“Arla Fett.”

At that, he seemed to stand a bit straighter, his eyes coming to life as he studied her. He laughed roughly and tugged a hand through his hair. “ _Ni eyayti. Tion’shekemi?_ ”

Arla grinned at him, and she knew it wasn’t a _nice_ expression, all bared teeth and bloodlust. She nodded. “ _Mhi slana._ ” Ben stepped back to let her out, and Arla glanced around at the hallway. All of the other cell doors were open, with no one in them.

“ _Gar solus,_ ” Ben murmured. Arla nodded, and followed him down the hall.

She was surprised that they were allowed to leave unaccosted, at least until she saw the bodies of fifteen _Kyr’tsad_ neatly laid out in even rows of five in one of the rooms upstairs, already stripped of their _beskar’gam,_ their weapons in a neat pile not far from the bodies. She glanced at Ben, who wouldn’t look at her, instead intently studying a blank spot on the wall. Frowning, she turned back to the weapons and grabbed a few blasters, a thigh holster, and two sets of knives. Wordlessly, she shoved one of the blasters at Ben and then the knife set. He stared at her and then sighed, going back to the bodies and picking up a _beskad._ An interesting choice, but Arla wasn’t one to judge.

She followed him out into a disturbingly still, peaceful night. Breathing deeply, she smiled at the _fresh air,_ the wind in her hair, and took a moment to appreciate this before following Ben to one of the ships.

“ _Tion’vaii?_ ” Arla asked. “ _Gar aliit?_ ”

Ben stiffened, avoiding her gaze again. “ _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_ ,” he murmured. Arla’s fists clenched.

“ _Kyr’tsad…_ ”

“ _Elek._ ”

She slowly put a hand on his arm, keeping her movements deliberate so he didn’t lash out. “ _Ni ceta. Ner aliit…_ ”

Ben nodded and finally turned to her, managing a small smile. He shrugged off her hand, but as she went to draw it back, he caught it in one of his own, squeezing gently. “ _Gar vod su'cuyi._ ”

“Jango?” Arla asked, her eyes going wide. Ben nodded. “ _Tion’vaii kaysh?_ ”

“ _Ti Haat Mando’ade._ ” Arla nodded slowly--that made sense. “ _Mhi slana._ ”

* * *

Jaster had had an exceptionally ordinary day, which is to say that it was just as stressful as any of the others the past few years. Sure, there were a few highlights, like when Jan’ika finally learned to temper his anger and sit through a full session of negotiations with the New Mandalorians without exploding at them, and when they’d finally, _finally_ uprooted the last of _Kyr’tsad_ from _Manda’yaim_ itself--their strongholds, anyway. Who knew which clans had _beskar’gam_ hidden away in _Kyr’tsad_ colors.

It was after midnight when he finally laid down to sleep, and he sighed in satisfaction as he laid down--

And then the proximity alarm sounded.

Jaster groaned, but sat up, strapping his _beskar’gam_ back on with his usual efficiency. Jango was waiting outside his door, in his own _beskar’gam._ Jaster wondered if he’d put his on that quickly as well, or if he hadn’t been planning on sleeping yet. He didn’t sleep enough, Jaster knew. They would have to talk about it, at some point, but Jango had been soundly avoiding him whenever he looked like he was going to ask a personal question.

“One ship, _Kyr’tsad_ colors,” Jango summarized. Jaster frowned. _One_ ship? That was an odd play for _Kyr’tsad,_ flying straight to the stronghold of the _Mand’alor,_ and the _Haat Mando’ade_ with _one ship._ What was their plan?

Their comms went off. “ _We’re being hailed._ ”

“Put it through, audio-only for now,” Jaster ordered.

“ _\--a terrible plan. What if they think we_ **_are_ ** Kyr’tsad?” Jaster frowned as Jango suddenly stopped walking, going stiff as a board. He wished he could see his _ad’s_ face, but they were both wearing their _buy’cese_ already.

“It can’t be,” Jango whispered, barely picked up by his vocorder.

“ _Jango? Jango! Oh,_ vod’ika, _you have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice._ ”

“Arla,” Jango managed. “You… You escaped? You’re _alive?_ ”

“ _I was let out by someone making their own escape, actually,_ ” the woman growled. “ _Wish I’d been able to kill the_ shabuir’e _myself, but I’ll take what I can get._ ”

“I’m coming,” Jango said immediately. “Land outside the gates. I’ll meet you.”

Jango started to move, and Jaster caught his hand. He pressed the button on Jango’s armor to end the call, and then repeated the motion on his own. Slowly, he pulled off his _buy’ce,_ and then waited for Jango to do the same. He looked stunned, his eyes wide. Jaster grimaced.

“Jan’ika… I know you don’t want to think about this right now, but it must be said,” Jaster murmured. “ _Kyr’tsad_ had her for years. There’s no telling what they’ve done to her. She may not be the person you remember.” Jango’s brow furrowed, and Jaster sighed. “I’m comming the medics, in case we need to sedate her. Just… be on guard, until we get the lay of the land.”

Jango nodded curtly, and Jaster nodded back.

Time to go greet their guests.

* * *

As soon as he saw her, Jaster could see the family resemblance to Jango. She had the same dark, olive skin, black hair with tight curls, and the same warm brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing _beskar’gam,_ though she had knives and two blasters strapped to her. Immediately on seeing Jango, the young woman rushed forward, tackling Jango to the ground in a hug, the two of them tumbling around and laughing brightly. Jaster slowly began to relax, until he noticed the other standing near the ship awkwardly, staring at them all.

He was just an _ad,_ Jaster realized as he approached him slowly, cautiously, making sure to keep his hands away from his blasters. He had red hair, just starting to brush his shoulders, and he was too pale, and too thin. Jaster wondered how long _Kyr’tsad_ had had him for. The teen finally seemed to notice him and gave him a nod of his head, pressing his closed right fist over his chest.

“ _Mand’alor._ ”

“ _Su cuy’gar, Mando’ad,_ ” Jaster said, frowning at the boy’s flinch at the last word. “ _Tion’gar gai?_ ”

“Ben.”

Jaster nodded. “You helped her escape?” Ben nodded wordlessly. Jaster smiled at him. “ _Vor entye._ Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll get you to the medics?”

Ben blanched. “ _Cuyi jahaala--_ ”

“It’s standard procedure,” Jaster said frankly, his tone stern, but not harsh. Ben deflated somewhat and shrugged. “After that, we’ll get you back where you belong.”

Ben stiffened again, and then shook his head. “I should go--”

Jaster frowned, the thought suddenly occurring to him that Ben might have neglected to give his Clan name because his _aliit_ were allied with _Kyr’tsad._ It would explain his strange reactions, and his desire to get away from them.

“You’re safe here,” Jaster said firmly. Ben blinked at him. “Your actions have spoken for you, Ben. You brought Arla home to her _aliit,_ and I owe you a debt for it. I don’t care who your _aliit_ are allied with. I don’t care what your Clan is.”

Ben stared at him for a long moment, and then slowly reached one hand into the bag he had slung across his chest, drawing something out, holding it in front of him, and Jaster stared back as he realized what that was.

That was a _Jetii’kad._ Did that mean Ben was…?

“You’re a _Jetii?_ ”

Ben flinched again. “I was. Now, I’m… I don’t know what I am. But I can’t go back.”

Jaster sighed. His day had just gotten far more complicated.

He nodded once. “Alright. We’ll talk more later, _after_ you’ve been to medical.” Ben glowered at him, and Jaster snorted. “It’s procedure. Now come on.”

* * *

“I don’t really _know_ what happened,” Arla sighed. She was too thin, and paler than she should be, but she was the most beautiful thing Jango had ever seen. He had yet to let go of her hand after being allowed into the room she’d been put into in their medical ward, and she was squeezing back just as tightly. “One second, I was debating trying to sleep or getting some exercise in, and the next, Ben was there, telling me to go with him.”

“I’m glad you did,” Jango said honestly. Arla smiled at him and squeezed his hand even harder for a moment.

“Me too. I think… I think he killed everyone in that compound himself,” she murmured, looking down at the bed, her brow furrowed. “There were fifteen bodies, already stripped of their _beskar’gam_ and weapons. I saw them on our way out.”

Jango hummed noncommittally. That was incredibly impressive, if it was true.

“Can you ask if I can see him?” Arla asked, looking up, her eyes wide and pleading. She needn’t have bothered with the doe eyes; Jango would have given her anything she asked for. “I didn’t really get a chance to thank him. It all happened so fast.”

“Of course,” Jango said. “Why don’t you get some sleep, and I’ll find _bu--_ Jaster. We can check on him.”

Arla gave him a sad sort of smile and squeezed his hand again. “You can call him _buir,_ you know. That’s what he is to you.”

Jango smiled back and squeezed her hand. Leaning forward, he pressed their foreheads together.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. Arla smiled at him again.

“I know.”

* * *

Jaster was pacing in the corridor outside Ben’s room. Jango frowned--that wasn’t a good sign. Jaster _never_ paced, but in that moment, he looked like a caged animal. “ _Buir?_ ”

Jaster stopped abruptly, and Jango’s frown deepened as he took in the scowl on Jaster’s own face. He was glad he’d thought to call out to him--in a mood like this, Jaster was likely to snap and hit someone who snuck up on him.

“He’s a _Jetii,_ ” Jaster said unceremoniously. Jango blinked at him.

“Ben?”

“ _‘Lek._ He showed me the _Jetii’kad_ he was carrying, and I looked into it while he’s been in there--” Jaster waved a hand vaguely towards the door. “Two _Jetiise_ were sent to protect Adonai and Satine Kryze, a Master and an apprentice. After Adonai was killed, all three disappeared.”

“ _Osik,_ ” Jango breathed. That had been over a year ago, now, almost a distant memory, a footnote in the ongoing Civil War they had on their hands. Jaster nodded.

“This is a mess.”

The door slid open, and the Twi’lek healer, Shakka, glared at them both. “You can speak to him now, _if_ you promise to be calm.”

Despite the circumstances, Jango had to bite back a smile at that. Only _baar'ur’e_ got to talk to the _Mand’alor_ like that. Jaster glared back, and then he sighed and nodded.

“I will.”

“ _Jate._ ”

“How is he?” Jaster asked.

Shakka shrugged. “Could be worse off. Could be a lot better. He has two broken ribs, a few more bruised ones, his shoulder was dislocated recently, but he said he set it himself, and he has your classic symptoms of _Kyr’tsad_ captivity: shock, dehydration, and malnutrition. Overall, nothing he can’t come back from, with proper care.”

Jaster nodded curtly, and Shakka stepped aside, letting them into the room.

Ben--Jango had to wonder if that was even his real name--looked tired and worn, sitting propped up against a small pile of pillows in the bed. Jaster strode over to one of the chairs beside the bed, and Jango followed at a more sedate pace. For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence, until Jango finally cleared his throat.

“ _Vor entye._ For bringing Arla home.”

Ben blinked slowly. “ _N’entye._ ”

Another uncomfortable silence fell, and Jaster was the one to break it this time. “What happened?”

Ben’s gaze fell to the blankets covering his lower half, his hands fisting it slightly. “After Satine’s _buir_ was killed… We were on the run for about five months, before we were captured. _Kyr’tsad_ killed my Master first. Satine and I, they took. They wanted her to legitimize Tor Vizsla’s claim. She refused to cooperate. Eventually, they realized that she would never cooperate with them. They kept her alive, still, since no one knew where we were, or that they should be looking for us. They knew no one would come. We all did.” He paused, licking his lips, and closed his eyes. “They kept her alive for their own entertainment. It was about… two months ago that she died. I only just found out. They waited until her corpse was half-rotted away before showing it to me. I… didn’t react well.”

Jaster and Jango exchanged glances at that. Jango didn’t think that _he_ would react well to something like that, either. Jaster’s face clearly communicated the same thought.

“When you said that you couldn’t go back to the _Jetiise,_ what did you mean?” Jaster asked, keeping his voice even. Ben sighed and tipped his head back, though he kept his eyes closed.

“...when I say that I did not react well, what I mean is that I used the Force to kill them all.”

“...and for that, the _Jetiise_ wouldn’t let you come back?” Jango asked, incredulous. Ben finally opened his eyes again, meeting Jango’s gaze steadily.

“It isn’t the fact that I killed them,” he said flatly. “They would understand that. It is _how_ I killed them. It’s… I never touched the Dark Side, when I did it, but the technique I used is forbidden. There also isn’t any way to convince them that I didn’t use the Dark Side, given… what I did.” Ben’s eyes fell again. “And I doubt any of the Masters there would claim me. Master Jinn was barely convinced to be my Master in the first place, and only because his hand was forced.”

Jango gritted his teeth at that. He didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it. Another glance at Jaster told him that he didn’t like it much, either.

“Arla wants to see you,” Jango said. Ben looked up again. “When you’re feeling up to it.” Ben nodded slowly.

“What would they do to you?” Jaster asked suddenly. Ben looked at him, frowning. Jango pursed his lips--he didn’t think this was the right time for this discussion, but his _buir_ would do what he would do, he’d come to find. “If you went back to the _Jetiise,_ and they found out what you’d done. What would they do?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Jedi who are determined to have Fallen are either imprisoned or executed, depending on the severity of the offense,” Ben said flatly. “Given that I snapped the necks of fifteen people simultaneously with the Force, I believe they would be unlikely to spare me.”

Jaster growled. “You said you didn’t use the Dark Side.”

He hesitated for just a second, and Jango frowned. “I don't believe I did. That also makes little difference, given that the technique I used is _forbidden,_ ” Ben answered with a shrug, as though it meant nothing to him. “And it isn’t as if I can prove that--I’ve had contact with Darksiders before. The stains are impossible to get rid of, and easy to misinterpret. Besides, with my history, they would be all too ready to believe it.”

“Your history?”

“They always said I was too angry,” Ben told them simply. “It’s why I had such a difficult time finding a Master to take me on in the first place. After this…”

Jaster nodded, and Jango couldn’t help the spike of _dread_ as a familiar look of determination overcame Jaster’s face.

“Stay here,” he said. Ben and Jango both blinked at him. “Stay here, with us. We owe you a debt, for bringing Arla back to Jango, and killing those _Kyr’tsad hut’uun’e._ If you don’t want to stay, I won’t force you. I’ll give you a ship, and supplies. Credits, too, enough to get you started in a new life. But I won’t tell the _Jetiise_ that you’re alive. You were all assumed dead in the blast that killed Adonai.”

“ _Vor entye,_ ” Ben said slowly. “That is a generous offer.”

Jaster waved a hand. “You speak Mando’a. I’m sure you know the literal translation of ‘ _vor entye,_ ’ and I mean it literally, Ben.”

Ben stared at Jaster for a long moment, and then he looked at Jango, who managed a smile for him, small and tight as it was. Finally, Ben looked back at Jaster and nodded.

“I want to stay. To fight _Kyr’tsad_ with you.” Ben grimaced. “Revenge is not the Jedi way, but…”

“You’re not a _Jetii_ anymore,” Jango said softly.

“No,” Ben agreed, his voice barely a whisper. “No, I’m not a Jedi. Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely have a certain thing for Mandalorians, and shoving Obi-Wan into their world... I might have a problem, guys.
> 
> But, I guess on the bright side, if this is the kind of content you like, then you'll get lots of it!
> 
> Mando'a key:
> 
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> aliit - Clan/family  
> beskar'gam - Mandalorian armor, literally an "iron skin"  
> buir'e - parents  
> kute - bodysuit worn under armor  
> Tion'cuyi? - Who are (you)? (The "you" is implied, since Mandalorians drop a lot of implied words  
> Ni nu'cuyi Kyr'tsad. Ner gai Ben. Tion'gar gai? - I'm not Death Watch. My name is Ben. What's your name?  
> Ni eyayti. Tion'shekemi? - I'm escaping. You coming?  
> Mhi slana. - Let's go.  
> Gar solus. - You're alone.  
> Tion'vaii? Gar aliit? - To where? (ie where should we go?) Your family?  
> Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. - Not gone, merely marching far away. (A phrase said of the dead)  
> Elek. - Yes.  
> Ni ceta. Ner aliit... - I'm sorry. (Literally "I kneel") My family...  
> Gar vod su'cuyi. - Your brother still lives.  
> Tion'vaii kaysh? - Where is he?  
> Ti Haat Mando'ade. Mhi slana. - With the True Mandalorians. Let's go.  
> buy'ce - helmet  
> ad - child  
> Vor entye. - Thank you. (Literally "I accept a debt")  
> Cuyi jahaala - I'm fine/healthy  
> Jetii'kad - lightsaber  
> 'Lek. - Yeah.  
> Jetiise - Jedi, plural  
> Osik - shit  
> baar'ur'e - healers/medics  
> Jate. - Good.  
> N'entye. - You're welcome. (Literally "no debt")  
> hut'uun'e - cowards


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set right after the events of chapter 1!
> 
> The Mandalorians and little Obi meet the Council, and Obi-Wan meets his new crechemates...

It was a perfectly normal day in the Council Chambers, but everyone (even Master Yoda, who was so rooted in the Living Force he may as well be a talking shrub, Yan thought, rather unkindly) had woken up with a sense of  _ anticipation  _ hanging heavy in the Force around them. Still, the Force had not seen fit to grant them any answers, and so they had proceeded with business as usual, knowing they could do nothing more than wait.

They were going over the latest reports from the ExploraCorps on the ruins they were excavating on Tython when the comm activated, the Council Padawan on duty reaching them.

The poor boy sounded terrified, Yan noted with a frown. “ _ E-excuse me, Masters. But there’s, uh… a situation. In the hangar. _ ”

“What is it, Padawan?” Plo, the boy’s Master, rumbled gently.

“ _ There are  _ **_Mandalorians_ ** _ in the hangar, and they want to talk to you, _ ” he said in a rush.

Yan’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing.  _ Mandalorians?  _ In the  _ Temple? _

“ _ The Knight Guards said that they think one of them is  _ **_the_ ** Mand’alor,” the Padawan squeaked.

“Bring them here, you must,” Yoda answered for them all. The other Councilors nodded; this was certainly an unusual turn of events, and would explain the strange sensation in the Force that had been looming all day. Yan probed the Force a bit deeper, puzzled to find that he sensed no warning of danger, only…  _ delight? _

What in the name of the Force was  _ this? _

They fell silent as they waited for the guests. There were three Mandalorians in full armor: one of the sets was silver, with accents of green and red, and that man wore a red cape. Presumably, this was the  _ Mand’alor,  _ then. One of the others wore red armor with a yellow mythosaur skull on his chest—a Twi’lek, given the lekku sticking out of his helmet. The third wore green  _ beskar’gam,  _ accented by white, with a black mythosaur skull painted on his pauldron; that man was holding a youngling with pale skin, bright eyes, and copper hair, mussed slightly.

It was the child that most drew Yan’s attention, though his gaze did linger on the lightsaber clipped to the  _ Mand’alor’s  _ belt—the Darksaber, presumably. The boy was a ball of pure  _ Light _ —powerful, certainly, in the Force, though not overly so, he was bright because the Light Side of the Force seemed to… love him, almost. Yan decided that was ridiculous as soon as he had thought it and quickly discarded the notion.

“ _ Olaram at Jetii’yaim, Mand’alor, _ ” Yoda said. Yan blinked in surprise—he had not realized his Master knew their language.

The  _ Mand’alor  _ bowed his head. “ _ Vor entye, Jetii’alor. _ ”

“A Mandalorian in the Temple, there has not been, for a long time,” Yoda hummed. “Yes, a long time. Come to us, why have you?”

“I need to be a  _ Jetii, _ ” the boy announced, squirming until the man holding him gently set him down. The boy bounded over to stand beside the  _ Mand’alor.  _ “The Force says so.”

“Does it, hmm?” Yoda hummed, peering at him. He hopped down from his seat and approached the boy, and Yan barely restrained his snort as Yoda made a show of hunching his back and using his gimmer stick. He was playing up the old, harmless troll act for the Mandalorians, Yan was certain. The man was still a menace in the salle.

The boy nodded, and Yoda studied him. “Uh, can I ask you something?”

“Please do,” Yoda invited him, smiling sleepily at him. The boy flushed.

“What  _ are  _ you?”

The Council burst into laughter at that, and even Yan smiled.

“Know, we do not,” Yoda answered easily. The boy’s eyes went wide. “From a faraway planet, I came, in the Unknown Regions. Sent to the Order, I was, very young. Remember my planet, I do not. Remember most of my people, I do not.” He turned slightly to gesture to Master Yaddle. “The only other known to me, Master Yaddle is.”

“Oh,” the boy breathed.

“From where do you come, hmm?” Yoda asked. “Mandalore?”

“I was born on Stewjon, but my  _ buir  _ took me from my  _ dar’buir.  _ She said I was cursed,” he sighed. “They don’t like the Force.”

Yoda’s ears drooped. “No, they do not. Good, it is, that taken from there, you were. Wish to be a Jedi, you say you do?”

“I… I want what the Force wants,” the child said slowly, his brow furrowing as he tried to express himself. “It makes the Force happy when I listen to it.”

Yoda nodded, his ears perking up again. “Yes, yes. Good, that is. Listen to the Force, you already do. A good Jedi, that makes.” He looked up at the Mandalorians. “Your permission, you will give, for him to be tested?”

“Yes,” the man in green answered.

“That’s my  _ buir, _ ” the boy explained. Yoda nodded.

“I’d like a word with you all, privately, when you’re finished,” the  _ Mand’alor  _ said. The Councilors nodded, and the Mandalorians left. Yoda sat down on the floor in front of the boy, gesturing for him to sit as well.

“Your name, what is?”

“Obi-Wan, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel,” the boy answered. Mereel, Yan realized, was the surname of the  _ Mand’alor  _ himself. No wonder he had come with the boy’s parent, if the child was part of his extended family.

“Master Yoda, I am,” he introduced himself.

“How old are you?” Plo asked gently.

“‘M five,” Obi-Wan answered, tilting his head. “Are you a Kel Dor?” Plo nodded. “My  _ ba’vodu  _ Van is a Kel Dor, too. He doesn’t have to wear a  _ buy’ce  _ when he swims, ‘cause he’s already got a breather.”

Plo nodded. “That’s right. It is convenient that way.”

“Is your  _ yaim  _ the right gas?” Obi-Wan asked, looking concerned. “It’s not fair if you have to wear it  _ all  _ the time.”

“It is, and it is kind of you to be concerned,” Plo answered warmly.

“ _ Ori’jate! _ ” Obi-Wan answered, smiling at him.

“A game, would you like to play?” Yoda asked. Obi-Wan turned back to him, nodding eagerly.

“Is this the guessing game?” he asked. Yoda nodded slowly. “‘M good at that one! ‘M not so good at meditating, though.” He dropped his voice, clearly trying to whisper to Yoda, and failing badly. “It’s hard to sit still.”

Yoda hummed and nodded. “True, that is, for many younglings. Teach you, we can, if join us, you do.” Obi-Wan nodded, and Mace brought out the datapad, pulling up the picture files.

“Just tell me what you think I’m looking at,” Mace instructed him. Obi-Wan nodded, and Mace hit the button.

“ _ Me'sen _ ,” Obi-Wan said immediately. He frowned. “Uh, I forget it in Basic.  _ Ni n’e. _ ”

“A starship, hmm?” Yoda prompted, and Obi-Wan nodded, grinning.

“The next one?”

“ _ Gai'ka, _ ” the answer came just as quickly. “A, um, a cup, I think the word is?”

“Yes,” Yoda confirmed, nodding. Obi-Wan smiled at him again, growing more excited with each word Yoda knew.

“One more,” Mace said.

“ _ Ikaad, _ ” Obi-Wan said immediately. “A…” He trailed off, looking to Yoda for help.

“A very young youngling,” Yoda supplied.

“A baby,” Saesee added, somewhat exasperated.

“All correct,” Mace hummed. Obi-Wan beamed.

“How feel you?” Yoda asked, tilting his head. The Councilors all opened themselves to the Force, probing at Obi-Wan, but not trying to breach his natural shields. The boy frowned, and closed his eyes, and then there was an echo of quiet surprise in the Force from the Councilors as some of the shields intentionally came down, if a bit clumsily.

_ Hi,  _ the boy put out into the Force, reaching for them.

Gentle, delighted greetings were given from the Councilors, and Obi-Wan shone even brighter at their warmth.

_ How feel you? See, may we? _

Obi-Wan presented his feelings immediately: he was excited, happy, hopeful, a bit nervous, and sad—but not frightened.

_ Sad, why are you? _

Obi-Wan did not answer with words at first, instead pressing into the Force the image to them of a nice little house with a garden out front, and several people’s faces--a man who looked much like Obi-Wan, with copper hair and a neat beard; another man, older, with a thin face, a crooked nose, and streaks of grey at the temples of his dark hair; a woman with light skin, bright green eyes, and blonde hair— _ Leaving them. _

_ Love them, you do. _

_ Yes.  _ They felt it, the burst of pure  _ love  _ from the boy, and then the mental equivalent of a sigh.  _ But  _ buir  _ and the Force say to let go. They’ll always love me, and they’ll always be there for me. They’ll wait for me until I can see them again. But being a  _ Jetii  _ can’t wait. I can’t have both right now. _

_ Wise, you are. _

Obi-Wan sent a vaguely embarrassed, pleased feeling and then brought his shields back up, opening his eyes again.

“Did I do okay?” he asked.

“You did very well,” Plo praised him. Obi-Wan flushed, but preened a little.

“Test your midichlorian count, may we?” Yoda asked. “A small blood sample, it requires.”

Obi-Wan immediately nodded and held out his hand, one finger extended. Mace stepped forward, grabbing the scanner they kept for such occasions in the Chambers, and pricked his finger. He soothed over the small wound with the Force when he’d finished, and Obi-Wan smiled at him.

“Impressive,” Mace murmured. “A little over 13,000.”

“ _ Tion’jate? _ ”

“ _ Ori’jate, _ ” Yoda returned. Obi-Wan smiled again.

The Councilors all looked around at each other, and then nodded. They were in agreement: the boy would make a fine Jedi. Mace, since he was already standing, strode over to the doors, calling for the other Mandalorians to return.

“ _ Jetii’alor  _ Yoda said I did  _ ori’jate, _ ” Obi-Wan immediately reported. His father huffed and ruffled his hair, and the  _ Mand’alor  _ patted his shoulder.

“I had no doubt,” Ben said. Now that he had heard more than one word from the man, Yan frowned at the unexpected High Coruscanti accent coming through the vocorder. That was… unusual, to say the least, for a Mandalorian. Perhaps whoever had taught him Basic had had such an accent.

“A good Jedi, he can make,” Yoda hummed. Obi-Wan beamed, and Yoda turned to smile at him. “Allow the  _ Mand’alor  _ to speak to us, will you?”

“ _ ‘Lek, _ ” Obi-Wan said, nodding slowly. The Mandalorian Twi’lek stepped forward to take his hand, leaving the boy’s father and the  _ Mand’alor  _ in the room.

Yoda hopped back into his seat, gesturing for the  _ Mand’alor  _ to speak. Slowly, he reached up to pull off his helmet. Yan immediately recognized him as one of the people the child had shown them, the middle-aged man with a crooked nose. The other Mandalorian did not follow suit, remaining in his full armor.

“I understand that Obi-Wan  _ wishes  _ to be a  _ Jetii,  _ and as his father will allow it, I will agree,” he began, shifting to hold his helmet under his left arm. “But we have a request, if he does come to be one of you.”

Yoda waved his gimmer stick in invitation.

“Allow him to be  _ Mando’ad, _ ” Jaster said simply. “Encourage the  _ Resol’nare  _ in his training.”

Yoda tilted his head, his ears perking up. “Explain to my fellow Jedi, will you?”

“ _ Ba’jur bal beskar’gam; ara’nov, aliit; Mando’a bal Mand’alor, _ ” the man intoned. “Education and armor; self-defense, our family; our language, and our leader.”

The Councilors bristled, and Yoda tapped his stick on the ground, calling for silence.

“Education, of course, provided will be. Armor, we cannot provide, but precedent, there is. Allow others to return to their homes for certain ceremonies, we do. To Kashyyyk, Wookies return at twelve or thirteen, for their  _ hrrtayyk _ . To Shili, Togruta often go, when adults they become, for their first hunt. To Mandalore, we may allow him to go, for his armor, when old enough, he is,” Yoda said breezily. “Self-defense, and defense of others, the Jedi already teach. Our family, he would be, though your family, he will also always be. Speak their native language, many Jedi choose to.” Yoda peered at the  _ Mand’alor  _ critically then. “But to acknowledge another leader—problematic, that may be. Our neutrality, we must maintain.”

“ _ What  _ neutrality?” the boy’s father said flatly. They turned to look at him, bristling. “Between Republic planets, of course you are neutral. But you serve the Republic, not the galaxy. To allow him to acknowledge a leader who does not align with the  _ Republic— _ that is where you take issue.” He paused in a silent challenge; Yan imagined the man might be raising an eyebrow at them, underneath the helmet. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Wrong, you are not,” Yoda admitted easily. “Bound to the Republic, we are. Part of the Republic, Mandalore is not.”

“And we won’t be,” the  _ Mand’alor  _ assured them, raising an eyebrow, “but I’m pleased to inform you that tomorrow, the Senate will officially recognize me as the rightful leader of Mandalore. When we first arrived last week, I signed a peace treaty, since there was never a proper one put in place after the cease-fire at the end of the Expansion Wars, and drafted a trade agreement. We’re all but allies, now. To answer my call, to defend Mandalore, would be to aid a friend of your Republic.”

“Work quickly, you do,” Yoda hummed lightly. The Councilors conferred quickly, reaching tentative agreement, and then Yoda nodded. “Very well. Accept your reasoning, we do.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Now, there is one other matter.”

“ _ Alor— _ ”

The  _ Mand’alor  _ shot his companion a look, and the man sighed, shaking his head.

“That boy is as good as a son to me,” the  _ Mand’alor  _ admitted. “If he didn’t already have a  _ buir,  _ I would have adopted him in a heartbeat. Be good to him, or I will rain Hel down on your heads. I’ll be checking in.”

The Councilors tensed, aside from Yoda, naturally, who cackled. “The  _ Manda  _ I have come to expect from  _ Mando’ade, _ that is. Yes, yes—care for him, we will. Care for all Jedi, we do. Our family, they are. A shared family, we will now have, for the first time since Tarre Vizsla.” He paused, then pointed his gimmer stick at the ‘saber on the  _ Mand’alor’s  _ belt. “His ‘saber, that is?”

At the prompt, the  _ Mand’alor  _ took it from his belt and ignited it. They all stared in awe at the black blade, shimmering only slightly around the edges, and then he deactivated it again and reclipped it to his belt.

“I finally claimed the damn thing, and ended the war,” the  _ Mand’alor  _ sighed, grim satisfaction curling around him in the Force. “It was hard-won, I will say that.” He levelled a hard  _ look  _ at Yoda. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” Yoda said. “A  _ Jetii’Manda,  _ Obi-Wan will be.”

* * *

“Attention, everyone!” Bear Clan immediately looked up at their creche Master, who clapped her hands, smiling widely. There was an unfamiliar boy beside her, looking at all of them curiously, and Bant sat up straighter. She loved it when new Initiates came to the creche, and this boy looked to be her age! She pursed her lips—no, it was bad to assume he was a boy. She had learned that just last week in her Introductory Etiquette class. “Everyone, please welcome your new crechemate. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

The boy—the  _ youngling,  _ Bant corrected herself pointedly—nodded eagerly, and pressed a closed right fist over his— _ xer,  _ Bant thought with a sigh; she was terrible at this—chest, bowing xer head. Bant tilted her head—she’d never seen that gesture before. “ _ Su cuy’gar, Jetiise!  _ ‘M Obi-Wan, Clan Kenobi, House Mereel.”

That was also something Bant had never heard before—what was that language? She glanced at Garen, who was probably her best friend, which was sad, because he already had a best friend, Reeft. But that was okay—as a Jedi, Bant knew she should love everyone, whether they loved her back the same or not. Garen shrugged—so he’d never heard it, either.

“Welcome to the Temple, Obi-Wan,” they chorused, and his cheeks pinked as he nodded at them.

“Why don’t you go play, and get to know everyone?” their creche Master suggested, gently pushing him forward. Obi-Wan nodded eagerly and took a few steps, but that was all he was able to move before he was swarmed, everyone asking questions at once.

Obi-Wan laughed and held up his hands. “Can I know your  _ gai _ \--um, names--first?”

“I’m—”

“My name—”

Bruck and Garen glared at each other, and then Garen waved his hand for Bruck to go first. Bruck puffed up his chest.

“I’m Bruck Chun.”

“Uh, Aalto.”

“Hi, I’m Reeft!” he said excitedly when it was his turn. Garen snickered as his friend bounced on his toes.

“‘M Garen Muln. I wanna be a Knight-Pilot.”

“I’m Bant Eerin,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I was born on Stewjon, but they think the Force is a curse there,” he sighed. Bant blinked in alarm; several of the others gasped, and Obi-Wan nodded seriously. “ _ ‘Lek.  _ My name actually really means no-one, child of nobody. Or nothing, maybe, I always forget the last part,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, my  _ buir— _ my dad—he found me, and he took me to  _ Manda’yaim.  _ I came here from there.”

“What’s  _ Manda’yaim? _ ” Garen asked, tilting his head.

“The planet Mandalore,” Obi-Wan said. Bant’s mouth dropped open, the others radiating similar shock, but Obi-Wan was still speaking, seeming not to notice their reactions. “We say  _ Manda’yaim  _ to mean the planet ‘cause there’s so many other words that sound the same, but mean something different. Mandalore means the whole Mandalore system, and  _ Manda’yaim  _ means the planet, but then there’s also  _ Mand’alor,  _ and that means Jaster, the King.”

“You’re Mandalorian?” Bruck asked, his eyes wide. Obi-Wan nodded.

“‘Course I am. What else would I be?”

“I— but—”

“There hasn’t  _ been  _ a Mandalorian Jedi,” Bant said. Obi-Wan frowned at her.

“ _ ‘Lek,  _ there was! Tarre Vizsla. He created the Darksaber, and went back to  _ Manda’yaim  _ to be  _ Mand’alor. _ ”

Her mouth dropped open. “ _ What? _ ”

Obi-Wan nodded. “ _ ‘Lek,  _ it’s a cool story! Lemme tell you…”

In the corner, peeking up from the datapad she’d been pretending to read, Master Shari-Ta smiled in relief. She had worried about how this would go, but apparently she needn’t have bothered. As ever, the innocent curiosity of children won the day.

* * *

“Troubled, you are.” Yan hummed and took a sip of his tea before replying.

“‘Is this the guessing game? I’m good at that one. I’m not so good at meditation.’” Yan looked at Yoda and raised an eyebrow. “The boy has already had some rudimentary training.”

Yoda snorted. “To the Order, Force-sensitive  _ Mando’ade  _ are not sent. Surprise you, does it, that their own system for teaching, they have?”

“That they have their own methods of instruction in Force abilities does not surprise me,” Yan said flatly. “What surprises me is that the child was trained by Mandalorians, and yet he has not touched the Dark.”

Yoda let out an unhappy  _ hmph,  _ and Yan resisted the urge to sigh, instead taking another sip of his tea. That sort of reaction usually signalled a rather lengthy lecture.

“ _ Dark,  _ they are not all.  _ People,  _ they are, and good and bad there is in them,” Yoda said. “Dangerous warriors they are, yes. But dangerous warriors, the Jedi are also, hmm? And not Dark are we. Not Dark are they all.”

Yan did sigh at that. “Master, I understand the point you are attempting to make, but I do have some understanding of their cultural values. They just ended a civil war that seems to have been fought almost entirely out of revenge killings back and forth between the two sides.”

Yoda outright scowled at that, and Yan grimaced, knowing that the lecture’s length had likely just doubled.

“A poor understanding, you have,” Yoda said flatly. “A  _ reformer, Mand’alor  _ Mereel is. The Supercommando Codex he wrote, to redefine the meaning of following the  _ Resol’nare.  _ Refuse the reforms, Death Watch did. A return to Mandalore’s conquerer days, they demanded. So fight, Mereel did, to stop them.

“And  _ three  _ sides there were, Padawan. Not two. Pacifists, the New Mandalorians are. Made peace with them, Mereel has. Force them to fight, he will not, if choose to, they do not. Dark, does he sound?”

Yan frowned, and then bowed his head. “No, Master.”

“A hand in raising Obi-Wan, he has had,” Yoda said. “Apparent, that is. Well, this speaks, of Mereel. Hope, this gives me, for Mandalore’s future.”

Yan nodded slowly; the doubt he harbored was not gone, but it was, admittedly, soothed somewhat--though he still sensed…  _ something.  _ Something… illusive, and strange, about these Mandalorians. He put the thought aside for now, resolving to meditate on the matter later. “Still, Master… A  _ Mandalorian  _ Jedi.”

Yoda smiled wanly, his eyes sparkling. “His lightsaber, I will look forward to seeing.”

* * *

Jaster was grateful that they had brought  _ Mir’ba’ruur  _ Venn with them, and that Ben had managed to make it back to the ship before he had his breakdown. He was also grateful that the others had scattered, leaving the three of them alone in the ready room.

“Breathe, Ben,” Venn sighed, and Ben let out a shaky, indignant huff.

“ _ Trying, _ ” he gasped out, and Venn snorted.

“You can do better than that,” she teased. “Come on, now. What caused the Anzati War of 327?” Jaster blinked, wondering what sort of technique this was.

“C-challenge to the line of suc-succession,” Ben said, hiccuping slightly, his breathing still too fast. Venn nodded.

“And the shortage of fuel near the Rishi maze ten years ago?”

“Massive solar flare on L-Leritor.”

“One more, Ben. The Treaty of 1128 was signed where?”

“On Kashyyyk.”

“ _ Jate. _ ” Well, whatever that had been, it seemed to have calmed Ben down, his breathing mostly steady now.

“ _ Vor’e, _ ” he said, tipping his head. Venn sighed.

“ _ N’entye,  _ Ben. You should know that by now.  _ Me’vaar ti gar? _ ”

“ _ Jate, _ ” Ben answered. She clapped him on the shoulder, and then nodded to Jaster.

“He’s all yours,  _ Alor. _ ”

He nodded his thanks and waited until she’d left before sitting down slowly, gesturing for Ben to do the same.

“That must have been difficult,” Jaster murmured. Ben smiled tightly at him.

“I haven’t been back to the Temple in… a long time.”

Jaster nodded slowly. “They didn’t recognize you. I would’ve thought that with their Force sense, they would have, even with your  _ beskar’gam  _ on.” And Ben had left his  _ Jetii’kad  _ on the ship, rather than on his hip, as he always wore it...

Ben shook his head slowly. “ _ Beskar  _ muffles the Force.”

That, at least, explained why Ben had asked the armorer if he could have another, durasteel  _ buy’ce.  _ Jaster had thought that he had wanted a second to be able to test improvements and different settings before working on his primary helmet, since many others did the same. But if it muffled the Force, which he knew Ben needed in a real fight… Jaster frowned. They would have to find some other metal that would work--he wasn’t going to let Ben go into battle with a durasteel  _ buy’ce.  _ Any other piece of armor, and he might have let him, but that brain of his was important.

“ _ Alor? _ ” Jaster realized he’d been woolgathering at Ben’s prompt, and he sighed.

“You didn’t  _ want  _ them to recognize you.”

“ _ Nayc, _ ” Ben admitted quietly. “It would have brought too many questions, and I didn’t want… I didn’t want to risk any of my own past coloring their view of Obi-Wan.”

Jaster frowned deeply at that. “You really think it would? I thought  _ Jetiise  _ were supposed to be open-minded.”

“They are, to a degree. But the first Mandalorian Jedi since Tarre Vizsla is already going to suffer a mountain of extra scrutiny,” Ben sighed. Jaster nodded slowly in understanding.

“Right,” he sighed. He couldn’t fault Ben for his decision not to let them know who he was--it had been hard enough for him just to go back into the Temple. Jaster didn’t want to imagine the breakdown he would have had if he’d actually had a personal conversation with any of those he’d known before. “What other options do we have for a  _ buy’ce? _ ”

Ben blinked at him and tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Pardon?”

Jaster waved a hand. “If  _ beskar  _ muffles the Force. For your  _ buy’ce,  _ durasteel isn’t going to cut it. That’s for training or test  _ buy’cese. _ What other options do we have?”

Ben shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. The problem has never come up before.” One of his hands reached up, thoughtfully stroking his beard, and Jaster smiled. He seemed to have recovered well enough from his panic attack, and was somewhat successfully distracted from thinking too much about the _Jetiise,_ though his eyes were still suspiciously red. “I could do some research… I know that before the Reformation, there were some non-Jedi military forces that used the Force who wore armor…”

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Jaster agreed. “And exactly like the kind of thing the main library in Keldabe will have records of.”

Ben brightened and nodded slowly. “It will be good to have an excuse to remain in Keldabe, for a time.”

Jaster raised an eyebrow. “We would be anyway. There’s still much work to be done, reforming the government. Do you think you’ll have time to help, with this project of yours?”

“Certainly,” Ben agreed easily, nodding. “And I do have some experience in negotiation and politics.”

And Jaster had come to know that when Ben used  _ that  _ tone, that mild-mannered, off-handed way of saying something, he usually meant that he was  _ exceptionally good  _ at the skill in question. He smiled. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in action, then.  _ Vor’e, vod. _ ”

“ _ N’entye, Alor. _ ”

Jaster nodded once and rose, Ben rising with him. “I should see if Jango and Arla are back from the tour Liika was giving them of Little Keldabe.”

Ben’s eyes went slightly unfocused, and then he nodded. “They are.”

Jaster snorted and shook his head, an amused little grin tugging at his lips. “Then we’d best head out.” He stepped forward and reached out to squeeze Ben’s arm. “He’ll be fine. As I said, I’ll be checking in.”

Ben chuckled and shook his head. “It isn’t  _ Obi-Wan  _ I’m worried about. A  _ Mandalorian Jedi…  _ The Masters are sure to be wringing their hands and wondering what to do with him before long.”

Jaster couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Since he’s  _ gar ad,  _ I think they wouldn’t have known what to do with him anyway, Ben.”

Ben’s face twisted into a rueful little smile at that, and Jaster clapped him on the arm once more before jerking his head towards the door. “Come on. We’d better get underway.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short little thing that came to me. I figured if Jedi could preserve their individuality in the afterlife, and speak to someone they'd never met (as we heard Ahsoka speak to Rey), then what would stop an ancient Jedi from helping when they were needed?
> 
> I have no idea where I would go with this, if I continued it, but if it tickles you, please take it on if you want to! I'd be delighted to see what anyone else might do with it. :)
> 
> Oh, and to answer one of the questions in the comments: I might continue what I set up in chapters 1 and 3, but if I do, it'll be in different fic posted separately since it's getting long and doesn't quite fit the description of a "smaller WIP" anymore, or a one-shot. If I do continue it, I'll make sure to put a note on here what it's called so y'all can find it if you're interested in reading the continuation!

Obi-Wan had what the adults around him all called “visions,” and he hated them. But that just made him feel guilty about it, because the new adults in the strange clothes around him all said that they weren’t supposed to _hate._

But… it was so hard _not_ to dread the visions, it was so hard not to scream when they tried to convince him to sleep, wailing wordlessly at them in protest, because he didn’t know yet how to _tell them_ what he saw every night. But it was always one of the same few dreams.

Sometimes, there was fire all around him, and the terrible smell of burning flesh, and someone he loved was dying, but even though Obi-Wan was standing there, burning up inside with _love_ and _grief_ and _crushing sadness,_ the person he loved was hurling _hate_ back at him, and _pain,_ and _terrifying rage,_ and even though Obi-Wan was burning on the inside, he knew they were burning up for real.

Sometimes, the Temple—his new home, Mama and Papa had said before handing him to a weird-looking man with fur all over his body and a sash over him—was smoking, and there were people _everywhere,_ lying on the floor, perfectly still. They weren’t even breathing _._

Sometimes, he was on a battlefield, and he felt his own _desperation_ and _determination_ and _focus_ as he tried to save as many of _his men_ as he could, and his men were in strange white armor, making them faceless, but he somehow knew that under it, they would all have the _same_ face.

Sometimes, he was alone, in a vast desert, living in a little hovel, and he knew he was still a Jedi just as surely as he knew there was no more Jedi Order. There was only a crushing sense of _grief_ and _loneliness,_ tempered by the faintest spark of _hope._ And Obi-Wan knew he was old, in the desert, because his hair was white and his joints hurt the way his Gramma had always complained about, and she was the oldest person Obi-Wan knew, he thought.

As awful as they all were, Obi-Wan preferred the last one, because at least it was calmer, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief as he found himself sitting just outside his little hovel. It was night, at least, so he didn’t have to feel the blistering heat of the two suns, and—

Obi-Wan blinked as he realized two things: he didn’t feel _old,_ this time, he just felt like himself. And he wasn’t alone.

There was a man standing a few feet away, in armor that looked almost like the white armor he saw his men wearing when he dreamt of war and Jedi Generals, but his was black, and it looked heavier, and he was wearing a red cape. As the man turned to him, Obi-Wan also realized he had one of those swords on his hip—a lightsaber, he corrected himself, his creche Master had taught him that was called a lightsaber—and the symbol of the Jedi on his helmet and chestplate.

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet and bowed clumsily, the way the Masters had shown him, and the man bowed his head in return. “Hi, Master.”

“ _Su cuy’gar, adiik._ ” His voice was low and deep. Obi-Wan liked the sound of it, even if he didn’t understand what he said. The man took a few more steps, tilting his head, and Obi-Wan wished he could see his face—

The man’s helmet disappeared, then, and Obi-Wan blinked at the man, who studied him in return. The Master was just as expressionless as the rest of the Jedi, with dark hair and bright yellow-green eyes with no pupils at all. There was a sort of green tinge to his skin, too.

“Um, Master?” The man hummed, acknowledging that he was listening, but said nothing. Obi-Wan squirmed. “What are you?”

The man chuckled, and odd low rumble. “I carry Taung blood, in my line.”

“What’s a Taung?”

The man waved a hand. “Another time. I sense you are weary.”

“Wha’s that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Tired.”

“Oh. I don’t sleep so good,” Obi-Wan admitted, hanging his head and biting his lip, squirming again with anxiety.

The Master hummed again, and then shook his head slowly. “ _Nayc,_ you do not. But fear not, _dral’adiik._ I shall guard your dreams tonight.” The man came close and rested a large, gentle hand on the top of Obi-Wan’s head, and then—

“Wake up, Obi! We don’t wanna miss the sweet rolls!”

He blinked his eyes open, and he was in the creche. Quinlan was leaning over him, and Obi-Wan was so excited when he realized he hadn’t had nightmares last night that he forgot to be annoyed that the older boy didn’t finish his whole name.

The strange Master in his dream was forgotten as he processed the promise of sweet rolls for breakfast, and he scrambled to get out of bed, pouting as Quinlan laughed when Obi-Wan got tangled in his sheets in his rush not to miss out. He knew Reeft would eat them _all_ if he didn’t get there fast enough, so he didn’t protest when Quinlan grabbed his hand and made him run towards the creche cafeteria.

* * *

Obi-Wan knew his creche Master—a lady named Shari-Ta, who was nice (although she didn’t quite make up for not having Mama with him), and had pretty green skin and something called _lekku_ hanging down her back from her head instead of hair—was relieved that he went to sleep without screaming about it the next night. He felt bad, because he knew he was being difficult, but he’d just been so _scared_ going to sleep.

But he wasn’t, tonight. Somehow, he knew the Master who guarded him the night before would be back, and everything was going to be okay.

He was right. Obi-Wan _knew_ he was asleep and dreaming, even though everything around him felt so _real._ And he wasn’t in the desert, or on a battlefield, or even in the ruined Temple with everyone else gone. He somehow just _knew_ he was in the Temple’s training rooms, but they didn’t look like he remembered them from the tour he’d been given, though he was still too little to train in them himself. The Jedi symbol was on the walls in white, and the walls looked like they were made of actual _wood_ panels, and the floor was wood too, and not metal, and the whole room was bright with actual _sunlight,_ and—

There was the Master, sitting in front of him. He waved a hand, and Obi-Wan bowed and then sat.

“This doesn’t look like the Temple. But it _feels_ like it,” Obi-Wan said slowly. The Master hummed, blinking those yellow-green eyes at him again.

“It is the Temple as I knew it, long ago,” the Master said.

“How long?” Obi-Wan asked, even though he had a feeling it was a really, _really_ long time ago. Maybe even ten whole years—that was a really long time!

“Well over one thousand years ago,” the Master answered, and Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide.

“I… I don’t even know how much that is,” Obi-Wan said, looking down at his hands. His own age he could count on just _three_ of his fingers.

The Master laughed, a strange sound, low and chattering, but Obi-Wan liked the sound of that, too, and he smiled. “It is a very long time.” Obi-Wan nodded. “How old are you, _dral’adiik?_ ”

“‘M three,” Obi-Wan said, holding up the appropriate number of fingers. The Master nodded. “Uh. Wha’s your name?”

“I am Tarre Vizsla,” the man introduced himself, bowing his head. Obi-Wan nodded back. “But you may call me Ba’ji.”

“Wha’s that mean?”

“It is our word for ‘Master.’ It is a shortened form of _Ba’jur’alor._ ”

“Uh.” Obi-Wan floundered for a moment, trying to remember that word, but gave up. “Okay, Ba’ji.”

Ba’ji nodded at him in approval, and Obi-Wan smiled. “You require help that none of your Masters have yet given you. Rest, and I will help you to protect your mind, to lessen the impact of your visions. They are gift from the Force, and must be heeded, but you are too young yet for them. When you are older, we will work through them. Together.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan agreed. He didn’t understand what Ba’ji was going to do, but he knew that he was going to help him with the bad dreams that everyone called visions, and so he agreed eagerly. And having Ba’ji guard his dreams last night had been so nice—he’d woken up without really getting a chance to dream _anything,_ and he’d felt like he had more energy than he had in a long time, maybe ever.

“Rest now, _dral’adiik._ The Force is with you, and all will be well.”

* * *

It was a relief to everyone in the creche when Initiate Kenobi suddenly began sleeping better. He was a sweet boy, during the day, but an absolute _terror_ when it came time to go to sleep. Shari-Ta couldn’t blame him, knowing what awaited him in his dreams; the visions he saw often woke him up screaming, both aloud and into the Force. And they most certainly _were_ visions—they could all tell from the way the Force swirled around him in his sleep, heavy with _possibility._

Shari-Ta was pleased to advise the Council that he had stopped waking them all up with his terrified sobbing and wailing, and they all agreed that it must be the effusive _Light_ and _peace_ of the Temple that had helped him, and they thought no more about it.

* * *

_Nine years later_

* * *

There was something… strange about Initiate Kenobi.

All of the Masters knew it. It was readily apparent just from watching him. The boy was a terror with a lightsaber, and his hand-to-hand was… surprisingly good, given that few Jedi placed an emphasis on it.

And his _presence…_ Sometimes, it was as if they were seeing double when they peered at him through the Force. There was _Obi-Wan Kenobi,_ the Jedi youngling, with his promise of future power and skill, and then, at times, there seemed to be… something _else._ Another presence, half-fused with his own, and that of a seasoned Master, though it was clearly not Obi-Wan. Not that any of them knew what to _do_ with that information.

It was _baffling,_ and gave many of them headaches. Still, they could sense the Light in him—even though he seemed so… _aggressive,_ at times, and too meek at others. And so they left it alone, trusting that his creche Master, the Council, and whatever Master took him as a Padawan would train him well.

* * *

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had his Ba’ji. He could vaguely remember how he used to only see the man in his dreams, although now, he could hear him even when he was awake. He didn’t _see_ him, as such, when he was awake, but he could feel him nearby, in the Force, and occasionally speaking up, though he spoke to Obi-Wan alone. It had been awkward, at first, until he learned not to respond _out loud,_ at least not in front of anyone.

It was… comforting. Grounding.

And _Force,_ how Obi-Wan wished Ba’ji could be his real Master.

“But I want _you,_ ” Obi-Wan had complained mulishly. Ba’ji had simply shaken his head.

“I will not leave you, _ner dral’kad’ika,_ ” Ba’ji had said simply. Obi-Wan, as always, beamed at the nickname: bright little sword. “But I cannot give you a bond. We are not on the same plane of existence, though I am able to cross over.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Sometimes, it was just so _inconvenient_ that Ba’ji was dead, and had been for a long time. Now, he was running out of time to find a _living_ Master, and Master Yoda said he was going to be sent to the _AgriCorps,_ of all places.

“If I leave the Temple, will you be able to go with me?” Obi-Wan had asked Ba’ji, who huffed.

“Time and space mean little in the Force, Ob’ika,” the man had said flatly. “Of course I will go with you. But be at peace: the Force has a plan for you. The path will be hard, but you _will_ be a _Jetii._ Now, show me your Soresu again. Begin with the first kata.”

Somewhere along the line, Obi-Wan had stopped simply blacking out until morning, and Ba’ji had started training him. They had started with shields, so that the Force wouldn’t overwhelm him in his sleep, and after that, lightsaber training, and hand-to-hand combat. Obi-Wan always remembered every dream in the morning, though he still woke just as rested as he had when he would simply become unaware of anything, so he had few complaints.

And it made him so much _better._ Already, Obi-Wan realized that he was better than the others in his lightsaber classes, and he could beat some Padawans in hand-to-hand. Though Ba'ji wasn't much help in his political or history classes, since his knowledge of the _now_ was limited to what Obi-Wan was able to tell him, he still sat with him and patiently talked him through the basic concepts until he understood.

Ba'ji also never got upset with him when he didn't understand something, and his patience seemed infinite. He was gentle, but firm, and there was an aura of _command_ around him that somehow put Obi-Wan at ease, and made him listen to his Ba'ji.

Frankly, Obi-Wan didn't like thinking about how miserable he would be without him, or how much he would struggle to get everything right without his help.

* * *

Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t ever told anyone else about Ba’ji, even when the Masters muttered to each other, wondering how he had learned his katas so quickly, why he was so good at hand-to-hand, employing moves they certainly hadn’t taught him, even when Master Yoda asked where he’d learned to shield the way he did and why he spent so much time practicing with his 'saber.

“The Force still speaks to me in my sleep,” Obi-Wan said, which he knew would ring with truth in the Force, since it was _technically_ true. Master Yoda had hummed, his ears flapping. “It tells me what I need to know.”

“Need you to become a warrior, you believe the Force does?” Master Yoda had asked, his gaze heavy and piercing. It didn’t bother Obi-Wan, not anymore—no one held a candle to the intensity Ba’ji had about him, not even Master Yoda.

“The Force shows me a war,” Obi-Wan explained slowly, choosing his words carefully. “And then how to survive it.”

Master Yoda had hummed. “Restful, your sleep now seems.”

Obi-Wan had nodded. “Whatever I see, the Force is always there.” _Ba’ji_ was always there, as a matter of fact. Sometimes, he instructed Obi-Wan to let down his shields as he slept, to let the visions through, and they were still Dark, and still _terrifying,_ but Ba’ji was always there, at his side, and after, he comforted Obi-Wan, and then they discussed what it meant, and how he could prepare himself if that future came to pass.

“Trust the Force much, you must, to rest well in the face of such Darkness,” Yoda had said, a hint of a question in his voice. Obi-Wan smiled.

“Even if the Force shows me something Dark, it’s because it wants to prepare me for it. It’s just trying to help,” Obi-Wan repeated what Ba’ji had told him. “And it might not even happen, but it’s better to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

Master Yoda had smiled back at that and nodded. “Wise you are, youngling.”

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan answered. He huffed a laugh as he felt Ba’ji’s rousing approval in the space just for him in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind.

The Force was with him, and so was his Ba'ji, and all would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note about Tarre Vizsla: I've definitely decided that Mandalorians have Taung in them, and Vizsla, being from so long ago, has more prominent genes. And the statue we see of him doesn't have any color to it, so I went with changes in that. *Shrug*
> 
> Mando'a:
> 
> Su cuy'gar, adiik.: Hello, child. Literally, "So you're still alive, child."  
> Nayc - No  
> dral'adiik: bright child  
> ner: my  
> Ba'jur'alor: I technically made this one up. It's what I figured a teacher would be called, from "ba'jur" which means education, and "alor" which means "leader." Mando'a tends to smash words together to make concepts, kind of like German does, and calling a teacher an "education leader" seems very Mandalorian to me, LOL


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is all your fault, everyone who commented on that last chapter! I said I didn't know where I would take this, and then you guys gave me the perfect direction!
> 
> I have an actual direction to go with this now, so we'll see if I can't hammer out some other scenes from this AU! :D

Ba’ji went silent, sometimes, his presence still  _ there  _ in the back of his mind, but still, and quiet. He had been silent when Master Qui-Gon finally asked him to be his Padawan—throughout most of the Melida/Daan debacle, in fact—and he had been silent when Obi-Wan handed Master Qui-Gon his lightsaber and watched him leave Melida/Daan with Master Tahl, watching his ship shrink in the distance until it hit space, and his fledgling bond with his Master stretched thin with distance.

That night, barely managing to fall asleep on the hard stone of the old, underground sewers the Young used to hide in, Obi-Wan found himself back in the same training room as always, a picture of the Temple in ancient times, but he didn’t look up, staring at the floor, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t want Ba’ji to see the tears in his eyes.

“You said the Force had a plan for me,” Obi-Wan said, when it became clear that Ba’ji wasn’t going to speak first. “You said I would be a Jedi.”

“Are you no longer a  _ Jetii? _ ” Ba’ji asked, calm as ever, and Obi-Wan finally turned to look at him.

“I left the Jedi Order. I gave Master Qui-Gon my lightsaber, and I left the Order to stay here. He made it clear that I wasn’t a Jedi anymore.”

Ba’ji hummed, tilting his head. “What is a  _ Jetii’s  _ purpose?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “To serve the Force, and the Light, in order to help the galaxy.”

“Do you feel you have done that, by remaining here on Melida/Daan?”

“Master Qui-Gon—”

“I did not ask what Master Jinn feels,” Ba’ji interrupted, just as calm as ever. “I asked what  _ you  _ feel,  _ ner dral’kad’ika. _ ”

“... _ ’lek.  _ Leaving other  _ ade  _ to die when I could stay and help would be wrong, and  _ Werd _ ,” Obi-Wan answered, though he was sure Ba’ji already  _ knew  _ why he had stayed. “I made the right choice, and I did what the Light and the Force demanded.”

“Then you acted as a  _ Jetii, _ ” Ba’ji said simply. “And you are a  _ Jetii  _ still.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “But I left the Order.”

“Can one not walk the  _ Jetii  _ path apart from the Order? Parallel, but separate?” Ba’ji asked. Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. That was… “That is heresy to the Order, now, I know. But it was once not so. I left the Order—you know this.” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “And we have discussed our connection, before, and you know that only those who die beholden to the Light will be able to manifest after death, as the Dark consumes the souls of those who use it.” Obi-Wan nodded again. “Then we can agree that I served the Light unto my death.

“I left the Order, but you still view me as a Master. I left the Order, but I served the Force, and the Light, as a  _ Jetii  _ must. I left the Order to end the Darkness consuming my people, to end the civil war that had  _ Mando’ade  _ killing other  _ Mando’ade.  _ To end a civil war… Does that sound like the act of a  _ Jetii? _ ” Obi-Wan nodded yet again, recognizing the similarity to his own reason for leaving. “Then, if I remained a  _ Jetii,  _ so shall you.”

Obi-Wan pondered that for a moment and then bowed slowly, deeply and formally, as he rarely ever did with his Ba’ji, who bowed in return. “ _ Vor entye, Ba’ji. Ni suvari. _ ” Ba’ji nodded, and then Obi-Wan sighed and threw himself down on one of the meditation mats. Ba’ji shook his head, clearly exasperated with him, and sank down far more gracefully on his own mat. “But… You left when you were a Master already. I was just a Padawan, and not even for very long. How am I…” He swallowed hard. “How am I supposed to end an entire war?”

Ba’ji sighed. “You have so little faith, Ob’ika?”

“I have faith in the Force, Ba’ji, but… this is a lot to ask,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“I am here,” Ba’ji assured him. “I will help you.”

* * *

Jango wasn’t sure what to make of it when Jaster woke him up in the middle of the night to tell him they were shipping out in an hour, and not for Galidraan.

“I thought that was the job we were supposed to be going on,” Jango had said slowly. They had, in fact, finished planning the campaign only a few hours before. “Where’s the fire?” Because some sort of emergency was the only thing that would make Jaster renege on a job after he’d agreed to take it.

Jaster paused, his lips pursing, and then, ever so slowly, he sank down onto Jango’s bed, watching as he strapped on his  _ beskar’gam. _

“Something… important happened tonight,” Jaster began, and Jango paused in the middle of securing his chestplate to frown at him. Jaster was a decisive person, and he spoke when he was ready and said precisely what he meant to. It wasn’t like him to hesitate over his words like this. “I was visited by the  _ ka’ra. _ ”

Jango frowned. “... _ what? _ ” The  _ ka’ra,  _ the spirits of all the  _ Mand’alor’e  _ and great warriors who had come before, watching over them all now… Those were just children’s stories, they weren’t  _ real. _

But… his  _ buir  _ wasn’t a man given to fanciful ideas, either.

“I can’t explain it,” Jaster said quietly, still looking Jango in the eye. “But I dreamt of Tarre Vizsla, and he instructed me to go to Melida/Daan. What he had to say was… disturbing.  _ Dar’buir’e  _ killing their own  _ adiik’e,  _ fighting a war against each other…” Jaster shook his head. “I knew that Melida/Daan was at war—they have been for the past century. But to kill their own  _ adiik’e… _ ”

Jango was torn. On the one hand, he had already started planning to have Shakka, their chief medic, check Jaster for head wounds when they made it onto the ship, and Jaster was effectively cornered, because this,  _ this  _ was  _ insane. _

But… if there was any chance that Jaster was  _ right,  _ and  _ adiik’e were  _ dying…

“Alright,” Jango said, securing his chestplate and pulling on his gloves. Jaster looked surprised at his easy capitulation, but Jango just nodded firmly and started on his vambraces. “We  _ will  _ ask Shakka to look you over, just in case, and we won’t be telling anyone but her until we verify this. But if there’s even a  _ chance  _ that you’re right, and there are  _ adiik’e  _ in danger, we have to help them. But you know it will take us  _ weeks  _ to get there.”

“I do,” Jaster sighed wearily, looking relieved beyond measure that Jango was willing to accept whatever…  _ this  _ was. “They’ll just have to hold on a bit longer.”

Jango nodded again slowly. “Right. You’d better go coordinate with the others. I’ll be ready in less than five.”

* * *

They took only a few ships with them, not wanting this to seem like a full invasion force, since Melida/Daan was a Republic world, and Jaster didn’t want to risk open war with them over a misunderstanding like this. Jango just hoped it would be enough, if they were about to be in thick of a war that had devolved so far that parents really were killing their own children.

Jaster was quiet and grim throughout the trip, but Shakka had cleared him, and Jango could do nothing other than wait for Jaster to say something more about it, or for them to reach Melida/Daan.

He had nothing more to say on the matter until they reached Melida/Daan, and then it was a vehement series of curses that Jango whole-heartedly agreed with. Because Jaster had been  _ right.  _ The first town they went to, there were no  _ ade  _ in sight besides  _ ikaad’e  _ who couldn’t even walk, yet, and Jango knew with gut-wrenching certainty what had happened to them.

Trying to ask the adults where they were had been an exercise in frustration. “They are gone.” “There are no children here.” “We have no sons or daughters.”

Every answer made Jango’s  _ rage  _ burn a little brighter until he was all but foaming at the mouth beneath his  _ buy’ce. _

“Steady,” Jaster said, putting a hand on his arm, though Jango knew from how tense he was that he was just as upset by all of this. “We were meant to be here, to help. We  _ will  _ find them.”

In the end, the  _ adiik’e  _ found them instead.

When the  _ Haat’ade  _ gave up the search for the day, it was growing late, and they were all just as angry as Jaster and Jango, now, realizing why they had really come to Melida/Daan. But as soon as they reached their ships, three  _ adiik’e  _ seemed to melt out of the shadows, approaching them slowly.

Jango eyed they curiously and with some relief at seeing at least a  _ few  _ children. Hopefully, that meant they had been hiding, and somewhere, there were  _ more  _ of them. One was a girl with chin-length red hair; another was a boy with dark hair, growing shaggy; the third was another redhead, a boy. They all looked too pale, and dirty, and painfully thin. Their clothes were worn ragged, and obviously had been patched and repatched, and Jango had to wonder how long they had been hiding.

All three had blasters on them, and looked ready to use them. It made Jango’s heart ache even as he was glad that they were fighting back, defending themselves.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jango heard the girl hiss to the red-haired boy. The kid sighed back, as though they’d had this discussion before, with the same outcome every time.

“They won’t hurt us,” he said, sounding utterly confident about that. He made a gesture to the other two, who bristled, but remained where they were as he continued to approach them. Stopping well out of arm’s reach, but close enough to be more easily heard, he bowed his head and pressed a closed right fist over his chest.

How did he know that gesture? Was he  _ Mando’ad,  _ lost here somehow? But… he’d had a posh Core accent, which didn’t make any sense. Maybe he’d been adopted?

“ _ Su cuy’gar, Mand’alor bal Haat Mando’ade, _ ” he said, and Jango exchanged a  _ look  _ with Jaster. The words were right, but he hadn’t heard that accent before. “ _ Ner gai  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi.  _ Tion’jor kaysh olar? _ ”

“ _ Par gar, _ ” Jaster answered slowly. The kid, Obi-Wan, tilted his head curiously. “ _ Bal gar burc’yase. _ ” He waved a hand at the two behind him, who stiffened, hands visibly tightening on their still-holstered blasters.

“... _ tion’jor? _ ” Obi-Wan asked slowly, frowning thoughtfully.

“ _ Ade cuyi ori’jaon'yc, _ ” Jaster answered firmly. Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“ _ Tion’kar'tayli? _ ” Obi-Wan said. Jango huffed. How did Jaster  _ know?  _ ...how was he going to explain  _ that? _

“ _ Ni jorhaa'i bal ka’ra. _ ” With the truth, apparently.

A ripple went through the  _ Haat’ade  _ at that, murmuring starting up over the comms; no doubt they’d all been wondering the same thing, but the answer was… startling. Jango didn’t know what their reactions might be, but he was far less concerned about them knowing now that they would realize Jaster’s information was accurate than he had been at first.

For some reason, that made Obi-Wan scowl. “Oh, he  _ didn’t. _ ” His eyes went slightly glassy and unfocused, and the air around them felt suddenly heavier, and then he sighed. “That scheming  _ shabuir.  _ ... _ nayc,  _ if you didn’t want me to say things like that, you shouldn’t have taught me those words.”

...what? Who was he talking to?

Obi-Wan reached up to rub his temples, looking suddenly exasperated and weary. “I take it you spoke to Tarre Vizsla?” His companions looked relieved at the switch to Basic, their postures relaxing slightly.

“Yes,” Jaster confirmed, reverting to Basic himself. There was a hint of utter  _ bafflement  _ in his voice that Jango only heard because he knew him so well. How had the kid known  _ who  _ Jaster had seen?

Obi-Wan sighed again and then dropped his hands, fixing his gaze on Jaster’s visor. “We would appreciate your assistance ending the conflict here,  _ Mand’alor.  _ I’ve done what I can, but we’re ill-equipped, and most of my  _ verde  _ are true  _ adiik’e. _ We have plans to retake the airfield, which would be a major blow to the two other factions, but the projected casualty rates of those plans would be far better with your help.”

Jango hastily yanked his helmet off, sucking in fresh air desperately, and he knew that he couldn’t be the only one. He was sure he was going to be sick, and it was never pleasant to throw up with your bucket still on. But the way Obi-Wan spoke… He’d called them  _ his verde,  _ casually mentioned kriffing  _ projected casualty rates,  _ but they weren’t  _ soldiers,  _ they were just  _ children,  _ and fighting a war was so, so different from simply defending yourself—

Jaster’s hand was on his shoulder, and Jango forced himself to breathe, and then he noticed that Obi-Wan was staring at his now-uncovered face, eyes wide. Obi-Wan noticed his gaze and flushed slightly, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Will you help us?” he asked again.

“ _ Elek.  _ We came to save  _ ade,  _ and that is what we will do,” Jaster declared, and the agreement of the other  _ Haat’ade  _ was an almost tangible sensation at Jango’s back, their protective fury rising in unison.

No more  _ ade  _ were going to die. Not on their watch.

* * *

The  _ adiik’e  _ showed them to their hiding place, and Jango couldn’t help the way his fists clenched—so hard that his fingers were going numb, but even still he didn’t stop—at the sight of them. The sewers were dark, damp, and filthy, and the  _ adiik’e  _ scattered within were…

Well, they were making Jango want to find every kriffing adult on this planet and put his blaster to their heads. He knew without even looking that the others felt the same way as they took in the sickly, malnourished,  _ wounded  _ children. They had been wounded in  _ battle,  _ and the majority of them didn’t even look like they’d be old enough for  _ beskar’gam  _ yet, if they had been  _ Mando’ade. _

“I know what you’re thinking,” Obi-Wan murmured, having dropped back to walk beside him while his two companions led the way. “We’re trying to  _ end  _ violence on Melida/Daan, not lead a massacre.”

“They should die for what they’ve done,” Jango muttered back darkly. Myles nodded beside him.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan sighed. “But for violence to  _ end,  _ someone eventually has to say ‘no more.’ Someone has to draw a line on where it  _ stops.  _ I’m not… I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be fighting. I’m certainly not a  _ pacifist.  _ But for anyone to know peace, for people to stop  _ dying,  _ someone has to choose to stop  _ killing. _ ”

“That’s very wise,” Jaster murmured, having stopped and turned to listen to Obi-Wan.

The girl, Cerasi, smiled at him. “That’s very well said, Obi-Wan. We aren’t pacificists—we are an army, after all.” Her lopsided smile told Jango that she knew very well what a makeshift army they were, a ragged little band of brave, headstrong  _ adiik’e.  _ “But we’re fighting for the chance to be able to choose not to fight anymore.”

“If the rest of the galaxy shared that ideal, there would be no need for us Mandalorian warriors,” Jaster sighed. “We would all be pacifists, with that mindset. What I wouldn’t give for a world where we didn’t  _ have  _ to fight.”

A lust for peace wasn’t something Jango really thought about much when it came to his  _ buir,  _ but he knew it was there. The problem with Jaster, though, was that he was too damn noble to ever let himself stand down and kriffing _rest._ Whenever and wherever he saw an injustice, however major or minor, he acted to put an end to it. Galidraan was proof enough of that—the Governor had told them that there were armed insurgents killing civilians, and if there was one thing that grated at Jaster, it was killing civilians.

Though killing  _ adiik’e  _ definitely beat that, qualifying as the worst sort of crime you could commit, in the mind of a  _ Mando’ad. _

The silence had stretched long, and the other boy, Nield, finally sighed.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

* * *

The plan that Obi-Wan had apparently almost single-handedly come up with for taking the airfield was… actually very good, although it wouldn’t be much use to the  _ Haat’ade,  _ made as it was with smaller and fewer bodies in mind. But Obi-Wan was informative, and precise, telling them everything they needed to know without being prompted: guard rotations, patterns, and numbers; the defenses he’d already scouted; the points where he had noted damage to the fences that hadn’t yet been repaired, and other weaknesses he’d noted.

It was, quite literally,  _ everything  _ they needed to know. Jango wondered how Obi-Wan had known to look for that, and decided, from looking at him, that it was probably hard-earned experience. His fists clenched again.

“That’s very impressive, Obi-Wan,” Jaster said slowly. Obi-Wan smiled crookedly at them, one dimple showing. It would have been adorable, had he not looked so heart-wrenchingly terrible.

“ _ Vor’e.  _ I had a good teacher,” Obi-Wan said, and Jango got that same strange sense of the air feeling thicker, heavier than before again before it cleared quickly enough that he thought he might’ve imagined it. “We were planning the attack for tomorrow. I thought you might agree to act as air support and run distraction maneuvers for us—”

“Absolutely not,” Jango said flatly. Obi-Wan frowned at him. “We’ll take the airfield for you, and you are going to our ships. You all need medical checks, and a good meal.”

Obi-Wan outright scowled at that, but it was Cerasi who spoke up. “With respect, this is  _ our  _ world.” And Obi-Wan flinched a bit at that—how curious. Probably related to the fancy Core accent. Cerasi and Nield both noticed, and each of them took one of his hands in their own, squeezing lightly. Obi-Wan smiled and nodded. Cerasi nodded back and then turned her attention back to Jango. “This is  _ our world.  _ We  _ will  _ be fighting for it.”

There was silence among the  _ Mando’ade,  _ and Jango knew they were all wondering if they could get away with just sedating the lot of them and locking them up in the ship—

“How old are you?” Jaster asked, and Jango’s heart sank.  _ Please, be twelve, be twelve… _

Because, if they were thirteen, then by  _ Mando’ade  _ standards, they were adults who must be permitted to make their own decisions. Well, that was how it worked in theory, but that only generally came up in extremely serious familial disputes, or… Or when their  _ buir’e  _ were trying to order them not to go into battle.

“What does that matter?” Nield asked, frowning at them. Obi-Wan tilted his head, looking between Cerasi and Nield, their hands all still joined.

“ _ Mando’ade  _ consider their young adults when they reach thirteen,” Obi-Wan explained. “The  _ Mand’alor  _ is, apparently, keeping to the same standard here.”

Cerasi and Nield exchanged glances, and then they both looked at Obi-Wan, who slowly nodded. In unison, without exchanging another word, they looked back to Jaster.

“I’m fourteen,” Cerasi said.

“Thirteen,” Nield answered.

“I am also thirteen,” Obi-Wan said.

_ Damn it, damn it, damn it _ —

Jango couldn’t help himself anymore, and he turned around and  _ punched  _ one of the sewer walls. That karking  _ hurt,  _ but it wasn’t overtaking the  _ rage,  _ so he did it again, and then once more, before he decided he could breathe again.

“Steady,  _ ad’ika, _ ” Jaster murmured. “You didn’t break anything, did you?”

“No.”

“Good,” Jaster said, turning back to the  _ adiik’e.  _ “Very well. You three and any of your other members who are at least thirteen may fight, but we’ll be assigning each of you least two spotters, just in case, whose priority will be your protection.”

They looked unhappy at that, but Obi-Wan bowed his head, and Jango saw him squeeze the others’ hands again. “ _ Elek, Mand’alor. _ ”

“We’ll give you time to go through your…  _ verde _ —” This time, Jango understood why Jaster hesitated over his words, and only the fact that his hand was still  _ throbbing  _ kept him from punching something else. This whole situation was just… fucked. “—and gather those who can fight.” How his  _ buir’s  _ voice was steady, Jango didn’t know, but he didn’t envy Jaster his position just then. Having to be the one to make the executive decision to allow  _ adiik’e  _ into battle was… probably making Jaster just as crazy as Jango, and he was just more composed about it, as always. “We’ll only need an hour or so to be ready for those too young to join the fighting. I will go back to the ship to coordinate; I’ll take Silas with me. The rest of you, stay here. Jango, you take the lead. I want all of you to triage any injuries, and have the worst cases ready to show Shakka.”

Jango nodded, knowing that Jaster was giving him this job instead of the one he was taking to more immediately fill his need to help this  _ adiik’e,  _ and he was grateful for it, no matter how hard it was going to be to stare at war wounds on  _ karking children  _ and then  _ prioritize them. _

“ _ Elek, Alor. _ ” Jango’s response was echoed by the other  _ Mando’ade,  _ and then Jaster peeled off with Myles—who paused to clap Jango on the shoulder once, and Jango nodded at him—leaving the rest of them with the  _ ade. _

Jango turned to the trio of  _ adiik’e  _ again. “You three are the leaders here, yes?” They all nodded. “ _ Jate _ —good. We’ll split into three groups, each led by one of you, and you can take us to your wounded, and then through the rest of the  _ ade. _ ”

They all nodded, and Jango watched in satisfaction as the eighteen  _ verde  _ with him split themselves evenly and quickly into squads of six. He nodded to them.

“Cerasi, you’re with Silas’s group. Nield, you’re with Lark. Obi-Wan, with me.” Each  _ Haat’ade  _ had raised their hand as they were named, and all three  _ adiik’e  _ nodded. Squeezing each other’s hands once more, they finally separated, heading for their assigned groups.

“We split the wounded and the sick into groups,” Obi-Wan said. “There are too many of them to keep anywhere but the main halls, if we were to keep them all together. Separating where they could hide in the twists and turns was more defensible, and it’s helped us keep the sick away from those who are injured, so we can reduce the risk of them picking something up while they’re already weakened.”

That was exactly what Jango would have done, if he were fighting a war that was somewhere between a siege and guerilla warfare while under-supplied. It both pleased and sickened him that these kids had realized to do the same.

“You’re all good tacticians,” Jango said, hoping Obi-Wan would answer the implied question. The boy turned and looked at him with a strange smile, one eyebrow raised.

“ _ Vor entye, _ ” was his only answer. Fine. Jango would try another tactic, next time the opportunity presented itself to pry some answers out of this kriffing  _ odd, _ stupidly brave kid.

* * *

Obi-Wan paced in his quiet corner of the sewers that he’d retreated to to  _ think.  _ He was torn about outing himself to the  _ Haat Mando’ade,  _ for all that Ba’ji seemed to insist that it was the right thing to do.

_ This isn’t your time, anymore. Since then, there have been  _ **_hundreds,_ ** _ if not  _ **_thousands,_ ** _ of skirmishes between Jedi and Mandalorians,  _ he mentally sighed at Ba’ji.  _ They do not have a reputation for liking Force-sensitives much. _

Ba’ji simply hummed. “ _ Nayc,  _ they do not have a good reputation within the Order. Nor does the Order have a good reputation among them. But do you truly believe that no  _ Mando’ade  _ has ever been born touched by the Force? That was true, when  _ Mando’ade  _ were exclusively Taung, but that has not been so since even before my time.” Obi-Wan frowned at that, wondering where he was going with this—Ba’ji said and did nothing without purpose. “ _ Mand’alor  _ Mereel said it well: ‘ _ Ade cuyi ori’jaon'yc. _ ’ Children are the most important. Foundlings are the future. This is the Way.”

_ This is the Way,  _ Obi-Wan reflexively repeated. He felt a brush of approval from Ba’ji and his lips twitched in a smile.

“Tell me, Obi-Wan: what do you think  _ Mando’ade  _ would do to a child that has the Force with them?” Ba’ji asked. Obi-Wan frowned.

_...raise them as  _ Mando’ade, Obi-Wan answered slowly. Ba’ji hummed again.

“ _ Elek.  _ So I very much doubt that you would be harmed simply for your gifts. And you are an  _ adiik  _ yet, no matter that you are already thirteen, and recognized as an adult,” Ba’ji said. “They have many reasons not to wish to harm you, and next to none in support of it.”

Obi-Wan scowled at that.  _ But I’m not just Force-sensitive, I was a  _ **_Jedi._ **

“You  _ are  _ a  _ Jetii,  _ Obi-Wan. You must cease speaking in the past tense,” Ba’ji sighed. “And you  _ were  _ a  _ Jetii _ of the Order.”

_ And what other kind of Jedi  _ **_is there?_ ** Obi-Wan sighed back, and he stopped pacing, suddenly freezing, as he finally understood what Ba’ji was trying to do.  _ A Jetii’Manda. You want me to go with  _ **_them._ **

“And now you see,” Ba’ji said. He didn’t even sound smug, which might’ve made Obi-Wan feel better about how sick he felt at the thought that he had been played, he had been  _ used _ — “Be at peace,  _ ner dral’kad’ika.  _ Have I ever harmed you?”

He waited for an answer, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes.  _ Nayc. _

“Have I ever guided you down a path that did not feel _right,_ in the Force, and to you?” Ba’ji still sounded so  _ patient,  _ so  _ gentle,  _ and something about that, something about the fact that Ba’ji seemed to  _ actually care about him  _ while meticulously plotting to lead him away from the Order, the only family he had ever really known, was… It was confusing. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter against the tears that were gathering.

_ Nayc. _

“The Order is not as I had known it,” Ba’ji said, and he sounded almost… mournful. “It could be again, but I cannot effect such change. You cannot effect such change. Not even the both of us together could create enough ripples to bring the changes needed—not soon enough.

“I gave the Order their chance with you, and at every turn, they have failed you,” Ba’ji said simply. “Master Yoda’s  _ meddling  _ forced you into an unequal partnership, and with a man who is so wounded in the Force that I am astonished he is not Werd. And  _ he  _ failed you. I gave Master Jinn and the Order a chance, and then a second chance. And they have all failed you.

“And so now I have arranged the opportunity for you to be given to the other half of my family— _ ner aliit, _ ” Ba’ji said. Obi-Wan felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I could have chosen any child in need to help, Obi-Wan. Any other  _ Jetii  _ Master in the Force’s embrace could have called to you. But it was me, and you, as it was meant to be. Do you know why?”

“ _ Nayc, _ ” Obi-Wan said, and he wasn’t even sure if he said it aloud, but at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had been alone in this turn in the sewer’s tunnels—last he checked, at least.

“In any life of yours, you are very important, Obi-Wan _.  _ In many of them, you are the last of the Jedi.” Obi-Wan didn’t flinch, because he already knew that, after years of meditating with his Ba’ji on what it meant when he was an old man, all alone on Tatooine, with the innate  _ sense  _ that the rest of the Order was just…  _ gone.  _ It still made him sad, and a bit frightened, but he trusted Ba’ji, and the Force. They wouldn’t let it happen.

But how could he stop it, if he wasn’t a Je—if he wasn’t with the Order? He shook his head—he would think about that later. For now, he thought he at least owed it to Ba’ji to explain it to him.

When Ba’ji could tell that he had fixed his attention back on their conversation, he continued, “In all of your lives, your decisions are tied to the fate of Mandalore as well as the  _ Jetiise. _ There were others within the Force who could have helped you, but I chose you first. You are the next bridge between the  _ Jetiise  _ and  _ Mando’ade.  _ Do not turn away from that duty, no matter what comes to pass.

“I will not stop you from contacting the Order, and I am certain that they would accept you back. But I have laid before you another path, and the choice, as it has always been, and shall always be, is yours.”

_ That  _ was… a lot to think about. Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “ _ Ni suvari,  _ Ba’ji. I will think on it.”

“That is all I ask,  _ ner dral’kad’ika. _ ”

“... _ me’vaar ti gar? _ ”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked at Jango, who had his  _ buy’ce  _ on, and was tilting his head. He wondered how much of that he’d said aloud, and how much Jango had actually heard.

“ _ Naas. _ ”

Jango nodded slowly. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just thinking out loud,” Obi-Wan answered, waving a hand. “Are we ready to move the other  _ verde _ to the ships?”

Jango huffed, likely at the brush-off, or possibly at the reference to his fellow children as soldiers, and Obi-Wan shrugged. “We are.”

“ _ Jate. Vi nari. _ ”

He could think about all of this  _ Jetii’Manda osik  _ once they’d taken the airfield. Obi-Wan nodded decisively to himself and followed after Jango.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and Jaster is alive because I love him, and I'm the one writing this, so if I want to magic him alive, I can! ...and then later be bothered by it and have to come up with an explanation. But that's a problem for future CJ! :D :D :D
> 
> Mando'a:
> 
> 'lek - yeah  
> ade - children  
> Werd - shadow/dark (archaic Mando'a, not used anymore normally)  
> Vor entye. Ni suvari. - Thank you. I understand.  
> buir - parent, dad in this case  
> Dar'buir'e - no longer parents  
> adiik'e - young children between ages 3-13  
> Ner gai - My name ("is" is implied, they drop words a lot if they aren't strictly necessary)  
> Tion'jor kaysh olar? - Why are you here?  
> Par gar. Bal gar burc'yase. - For you. And your friends.  
> tion'jor? - why?  
> Ade cuyi ori'jaon'yc. - Children are the most important.  
> Tion'kar'tayli? - How did (you) know?  
> Ni jorhaa'i bal ka'ra. - I spoke to the ka'ra.  
> shabuir - like jerk, but way more extreme (I'm thinking it's probably along the same lines as something like "motherfucker" given the buir in it)  
> nayc - no  
> verde - soldiers  
> Elek. - Yes.  
> Vor'e. - Thanks.  
> ...me'vaar ti gar? - How are you? Literally "What's new with you?"  
> Naas. - Nothing.  
> Vi nari. - Let's go. Vi is we, but it's a very archaic form that isn't used anymore


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need your opinions on this: since I think I might continue this, should I put it into a separate story of its own? Or continue it here? It's still technically a "smaller WIP" so it could stay here, but if you want it to be a separate work, let me know! :)
> 
> The plot thickens, and our Mandos start to get a clue...

Jaster didn’t quite know what to make of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He liked the kid well enough, that was true—Obi-Wan and all of the _ade_ with the Young (and _kark,_ he’d nearly been right there with Jango, punching something until his knuckles bruised, when he’d found out the name they’d given their _army_ ) were certainly _Mandokar._ He admired that about them, though he wished they hadn’t had to display it so young. So yes, he was growing fond of the _verd’ike._ He liked them, and that included Obi-Wan.

But Obi-Wan was… strange.

Everything that Jaster learned, everything that he noticed, presented yet another mystery to him about the boy. He had a Core accent—High Coruscanti, if Jaster wasn’t mistaken, but he’d never spent much time in the Core worlds, so he couldn’t be certain unless Obi-Wan decided to tell him—and Jaster had gathered from the vague statements he and his two co-leaders, Cerasi and Nield, made that he was neither Melida nor Daan. Clearly, he wasn’t from this world, though how he’d come to be here, embroiled in a civil war with other _ade_ was just another question Jaster had added to his rapidly-growing list.

And when he spoke _Mando’a…_ Jaster knew he would never— _could_ never—forget his conversation with Tarre Vizsla. It wasn’t every day, after all, that the _ka’ra_ spoke to them. It was _important,_ and sacred. Even Jango had started treating it with more reverence, now that he had seen the truth of it, for all that he had always scoffed at the tales. So Jaster remembered every last detail of that _haa’it,_ and he remembered Tarre Vizsla’s low, rumbling voice, and the peculiar accent he had had.

Obi-Wan spoke Mando’a with the same accent. And it wasn’t just that—Jango had told him that Obi-Wan had used _vi_ instead of _mhi._ That was Archaic Mando’a, nobody actually spoke like that anymore. And Jaster was certain he’d heard him say _werd_ instead of _prudii,_ another word that had fallen into disuse long ago.

Jaster wasn’t sure what to make of that, either, and Jango had gotten no answers despite receiving Jaster’s unspoken message and pairing himself off with the kid when they made their initial rounds of the _ade._ Obi-Wan, it seemed, had decided not to trust them that fully yet, and he was clever enough to give little away directly.

And now this. Jaster blinked at Obi-Wan.

“Come again?” he said slowly, frowning at the boy.

“If you have any spare _beskad’e,_ I would be quite grateful if you would be willing to lend me one to use,” Obi-Wan repeated. Jaster tilted his head, and then looked pointedly at the blaster still affixed to Obi-Wan’s hip. Obi-Wan shrugged. “I am far better with… a sword than I am a blaster.”

It was clear that Obi-Wan had been trained. He knew too well how to slip into a soldier’s role, a _commander’s_ role, not to have been. Sure, all of the _ade_ had that sort of sense to them, to an extent, and some of it was likely experience, since they’d been fighting this war for some time now, but Obi-Wan was beyond that. Someone had taught this boy how to fight, and more than that, they had taught him how to fight an entire _campaign,_ not just a single battle.

But who would have trained him to focus on _kadause_ rather than blasters? It was an impressive skill, and handy as a hold-out—and Jaster himself was well-trained with a _beskad,_ as he had been required as a Journeyman Protector to train with even the most traditional of weapons available to them, never knowing when they might have to pick up whatever was lying around to use, if things went sideways—but it just wasn’t _practical_ as a primary weapon.

A suspicion began forming in the back of his mind, so outlandish that Jaster almost dismissed it outright, but… It made sense. Too much sense to ignore the possibility.

Still, his instincts told him that now wasn’t the time to question Obi-Wan, not when he was still so high-strung and obviously wary, despite the genuine gratitude he had expressed— _repeatedly_ —for their help. No, Jaster knew he would have to wait until after the fighting was over, and they still had a few major targets left: the airfield Obi-Wan had already planned for, and something called the Halls of Evidence.

Jaster nodded slowly. “We do have a few options in the armory, and you can take your pick of the lot, on one condition: keep the blaster on you. A _beskad_ is useful in close-quarters combat, but a blaster is just more practical.”

Obi-Wan scowled slightly at that, but finally nodded slowly. “Alright. I promise to keep the blaster on me.”

Jaster smiled at him. “Come on, then. I’ll take you to the armory.”

It was a short walk, so Jaster didn’t try to make conversation, especially when Obi-Wan looked so… distant, like his attention was lightyears away. Jaster’s jaw clenched at that—he knew that look. That was combat fatigue, and to see it on a _child’s_ face was…

Well, suffice to say that with each passing minute spent with these _ade,_ Jaster was growing closer to following Jango’s lead and indiscriminately punching walls.

“Here we are,” Jaster murmured as they entered. His Quartermaster, Mhon Va, looked up and nodded at him. She was a good sort—reliable, intelligent, and no-nonsense. She’d been terrifying in combat, too, until she’d broken her spine after her jetpack failed during a job at the _worst_ possible moment. They had healed her enough to be able to walk, but she wouldn’t be able to take part in their campaigns anymore. Still, she had insisted on being useful to him instead of enjoying her retirement, and so Jaster had gladly taken her onto his flagship with him. Mhon had immediately turned the armory into her office, knowing that it would be easier to keep the _verde_ from lightening their weapons stores if she was mostly there. Jaster was grateful he didn’t have to keep restocking the grenades quite so often—some of his _verd’e_ liked explosions more than was strictly healthy, or sane.

“ _Su’cuy, Alor, verd’ika,_ ” she greeted them, nodding to them both. “What may I do for you?”

“Obi-Wan requested a _beskad,_ ” Jaster explained. She hummed and fixed her gaze on the boy, who looked steadily back.

“Did he now?” she murmured, and glanced back to Jaster, who nodded to signal his explicit approval. “Very well. We have three spares, currently. Come, _verd’ika._ See how they feel to you.”

Obi-Wan nodded and stepped forward, taking the first _beskad_ she handed to him. It was a bit long for him, Jaster thought, but said nothing, letting Obi-Wan test it for himself, for the moment. Mhon also stood ready to help him, but it was clear to both of them almost immediately that Obi-Wan really did know how to handle a _kadau._ His grip was perfect, as was his stance, and the set of his shoulders. Obi-Wan tilted it slowly back and forth before shaking his head.

“I’d have to grow into that one,” he said, one of those lopsided grins he got fixed on his face—they made him look more like the child he was, and made Jaster wonder what he would look like if he _actually_ smiled. Mhon snorted.

“Quite. Here.” She took it from him and shoved another at him, this one a more traditional _beskad,_ shorter and with the signature curved tip. Obi-Wan hummed as he placed his hands on the grip, and then carefully stepped back away from Mhon, giving himself more room to manipulate the _beskad._ He swung it slowly a few times, and then spun it in one hand as he moved his arm, stopping with it held out to the side of his body, parallel to the floor. The casual ease with which he did it told Jaster that Obi-Wan wasn’t just trained with a _beskad,_ he was _well-trained._

The suspicion in the back of his mind pushed to the fore and grew stronger.

“This one feels much better,” he said slowly. “May I try the third? It would be unwise not to sample all of my options. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Not at all,” Mhon said slowly, taking it back from him and handing him the last. This one was special, Jaster knew, and rare. It was made of a beskar-cortosis weave. It was about the length of the last _beskad_ Obi-Wan had tried, and as he put both hands on the grip, his eyes lit up, and he smiled. Again he moved back, and slowly moved through what looked like part of a kata, maybe, but certainly wasn’t any set of movements _Mando’ade_ trained in with a _beskad._

Ah, _kriff_. Jaster knew then that he was almost certainly right.

“Oh yes,” Obi-Wan said as he stopped, grinning delightedly. “This is perfect.”

Mhon snorted. “ _Finally._ I’ve been waiting for someone to take that off my hands for two years, now.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, looking at the sword, turning it this way and that, making the light bounce off of it. “This one is lighter, both in weight and color. Is it _beskar?_ ”

“And cortosis, woven together,” Mhon said. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, and Jaster smiled. He clearly knew the value of what he held in his hands.

“I see,” he said. He glanced between Mhon and Jaster. “You truly don’t mind?”

“As she said, I’m just pleased it will finally see some use,” Jaster said, waving a hand. “Mind your promise, Obi-Wan.”

“I’ll keep the blaster on me,” Obi-Wan sighed as he nodded. “ _Vor entye._ ”

“ _N’entye,_ ” Jaster responded. He nodded to Mhon as Obi-Wan began attaching the sheath to his belt—on his left, to be drawn across his body. Yes, he certainly did know what to do with a _beskad._ Mhon nodded back slowly, raising an eyebrow at him. Jaster shrugged one shoulder helplessly, and her eyes narrowed. Jaster sighed, and her gaze drifted back to Obi-Wan as he nodded deeply to her.

“Come again soon, _verd’ika,_ ” Mhon said cheerfully. Obi-Wan smiled at her.

“ _Ret'urcye vi._ ”

And there it was again. He noted Mhon’s bewildered look and shrugged again. Mhon’s eyes narrowed again slightly, but she didn’t comment on it, thankfully.

Jaster knew she would want an explanation for that. Frankly, so did he.

* * *

The _beskad_ —could it properly be called a _beskad,_ if it was partly cortosis, even if it was the right shape? Obi-Wan made a mental note to ask Ba’ji later, since he’d considerately gone quiet for now, giving him time and space to process everything they’d discussed—wasn’t a lightsaber, but it was close enough to soothe some of the _ache_ Obi-Wan had felt ever since he handed his blade over to Master Qui-Gon.

And, given that it was both _beskar_ and cortosis, it would be able to deflect blaster bolts. Just like a lightsaber.

Obi-Wan grinned broadly as he made his way through the _Mand’alor’s_ flagship and made his way quickly to the cargo hold, where they had grouped all of the Young who didn’t need medical attention. The _Mando’ade_ had gathered “extra” mattresses and blankets (though Obi-Wan strongly suspected more than a few of the _Mando’ade_ would now be sharing bunks, not having planned on just how _many_ of the Young there would be), likely realizing that the easiest way to house them, for now, was to stick them all together into the largest room on the ship. And more than that, it was… hard for them to be separated, after what they’d all been going through together. Obi-Wan recalled from his sentient psychology class at the Temple that it was called a “trauma bond.”

He scowled at the memory of the Temple before shoving that thought away. He needed to… think about _literally_ anything else.

Obi-Wan knew that Cerasi and Nield were unhappy with the _Mand’alor’s_ decision to refuse anyone who wasn’t at least thirteen, but he was so _relieved._ He was tired of going into a fight with the Young and returning with fewer of them than he’d left with. And they were all so _young_ —there were only five of them that were old enough to fight with the _Mando’ade._

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and poked his head into the cargo bay, whistling low to signal Cerasi and Nield, knowing they would hear it and come, and everyone else would understand as well. They met him just outside the door quickly, looking grim, as though waiting for bad news, and Obi-Wan’s smile faltered for a moment before he gestured to the _beskad_ at his hip.

“They gave you a sword?” Cerasi asked, her surprise evident. Nield scowled at him.

“You didn’t tell them about… _y’know_ —did you?” Obi-Wan shook his head slowly.

“No, I didn’t. But the blade they gave me is a cortosis- _beskar_ weave that’ll deflect blaster bolts,” Obi-Wan said, his smile growing more genuine now as his excitement returned. “I was hoping to train with it some, before we hit the airfield tomorrow. I wondered if at least one of you might help me.”

They exchanged glances, and then slowly nodded, not having to speak a word to communicate their thoughts. Obi-Wan appreciated that about their little group, the way that the three of them always seemed to be in perfect sync. Well, most of the time, anyway. They’d had a _few_ fights, but Obi-Wan knew it was due more to the stress they were all perpetually under than any significant incompatibility between them.

“There’s nothing important for us to do here right now,” Cerasi said. “They’ve already made sure everyone’s gotten a chance at a shower, and food. There are twelve of the Mandalorians in there with the others right now, telling them stories and keeping them calm until they fall asleep. I’m sure it’ll be fine, if we’re only gone for a little while.”

“You want us to shoot _at you,_ don’t you?” Nield sighed, and Obi-Wan laughed.

“How else am I supposed to practice?”

* * *

“ _Buir._ ” Jaster hummed, but didn’t look up from the holotable, still carefully peering at the projection of the airfield, based off of the data his _verde_ had picked up on their flyover. Jetpacks were convenient that way—where a reconnaissance vessel would definitely have been spotted, the four _verde_ he’d sent certainly hadn’t been. Though he had had to supplement their readings with Obi-Wan’s observations from the ground, not having wanted to risk any _Haat’ade_ being seen around their target, and ordering them not to land. “ **_Buir._ **”

“What is it, Jango?” Jaster sighed, looking up. Jango was doing… _something_ with his face, like he was torn between exasperation, dread, and shock. Jaster frowned at him. “Is everything alright?”

“You… need to come see this for yourself.”

Jaster sighed, wishing his normally-direct son hadn’t chosen _now_ to decide to be cryptic. He had too much to do to puzzle out whatever the issue was. But… Jango looked insistent, and so Jaster simply nodded and rose. There would be time for more planning later. He followed Jango out of the ship and into the little clearing nearby, and stopped dead.

Cerasi and Nield were running back and forth, laughing happily as they shot their blasters _at Obi-Wan._

Who was standing still, calmly deflecting the blaster bolts with the _beskad_ Jaster had just given him, and smiling almost as broadly as the other two.

“Oh, _hells,_ ” Jaster muttered under his breath. “I knew I was right.”

“Right about what?” Jango demanded. Jaster glanced around; there were several other _Haat’ade_ watching the three of them, grouped in pairs or trios themselves, and scattered on the edges of the clearing, thoroughly distracted by the show the _adiik’e_ were putting on, laughing and whopping right along with them. None of them were close enough to overhear them, though Jaster lowered his voice anyway.

“He’s a _Jeti’ika._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Jango turned fully to him, his eyes wide, and Jaster nodded, his mouth pressed into a firm line. “But… He speaks _Mando’a._ ”

“And he sounds like we did a thousand years ago,” Jaster pointed out. “When was the last time _Mando’ade_ had real contact with the _Jetiise?_ Contact that _wasn’t akalenedat,_ that is.”

“...Tarre Vizsla,” Jango answered when it became clear that Jaster’s question wasn’t rhetorical. Jaster nodded.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they have one of those… magic pyramids in their archives, from Tarre Vizsla, since he was a _Jetii,_ ” Jaster said slowly. “Like the ones we keep in the vaults, from the _Dar’Jetiise._ Or hells, even simple recordings. It seems more likely to me that if he learned Mando’a at the Temple, it would’ve been from the records they have of Tarre Vizsla, and not modern _Mando’ade._ Not with the way he sounds.”

“They never travel without an escort, not the little ones,” Jango pointed out. “If you’re right, then where’s the Master?”

Jaster grimaced. “Dead, I suspect. Some of the _verde_ heard a few stories in town. They said there were a few _Jetiise_ on the planet, but one was severely injured. No one has seen or heard from them in almost ten months—exactly the same amount of time Obi-Wan has been fighting with the Young. One of the younger _adiik’e_ let that slip.” Jaster paused and then waved a hand at the display in front of him. “And just _look_ at that. Who have you seen fight like _that_ besides a _Jetii?_ ”

Jango stared at him for another moment before slowly turning to refocus on the playful fighting going on in the clearing. Jaster knew what he saw, and he knew he was right. It wasn’t only that Obi-Wan was _fast_ enough to get the _beskad_ where it needed to be to block each shot—though he certainly was fast—but that it looked like he _knew_ where the next shot would be before it was fired.

“Fucking hells,” Jango breathed. Jaster grimaced.

He hadn’t _wanted_ to be right—this whole thing was enough of a mess without adding a lost and orphaned baby _Jetii_ to the mix.

* * *

Jango had so many _questions_ about his _buir’s_ suspicions. There was an entire Order on Coruscant, and they’d lost a Master and a _Jeti’ika,_ and Obi-Wan had been on Melida/Daan for nearly _ten months_ now. Jango knew that if he went missing, and Jaster even had an _inkling_ of what planet he might be on, he would be found within a week, and Jaster didn’t even have the same magic powers the _Jetiise_ did.

So why hadn’t anyone from the Order come to rescue him, or send help for the Young? Supposedly, the _Jetiise_ viewed _adiik’e_ the same way _Mando’ade_ did. Surely they would want him back, and from what little Jango knew of the _Jetiise_ and the Republic, they were _assigned_ missions, they didn’t just go haring off on their own, so he doubted that they didn’t know what planet to look on.

And why would Obi-Wan have any interest in Mandalore, and _Mando’ade,_ if he had been raised by the _Jetiise?_ They weren’t exactly in the Order’s good books. Even if he had just been interested in Tarre Vizsla, and learned Mando’a from the records the _Jetiise_ likely had of him, what would even have sparked such an interest?

Then there was the matter of the _beskad._ If Obi-Wan was a _Jeti’ika,_ then why didn’t he have a _Jetii’kad_ with him? Jango had wondered, briefly, if they just didn’t give the little ones real _Jetii’kad’e,_ but Obi-Wan was clearly too well-trained not to have practiced, and the certain sort of care he showed in meticulously cleaning the _beskad_ after their practice told Jango that he was used to a _real_ weapon. There was a sort of… reverence about it, when you acknowledged a weapon as more than _necessary,_ but as your _life._ And that was how Obi-Wan looked at that _beskad._ And it wasn’t a general love of weapons, like most _Mando’ade_ had, because he treated the blaster he used with care, but not the same level of… solemnity. No, that was reserved for the _beskad_ alone.

So what had happened to his _Jetii’kad?_ Jango could tell he wouldn’t have been careless with it. Had someone taken it from him? He growled low at that thought—disarming an _adiik_ after they’d earned the right to bear their own weapon was borderline child abuse, to a _Mando’ad._

But, as always, _buir_ was right. They wouldn’t be able to sit Obi-Wan down and ask their questions until after the fighting had ended. With a sigh, Jango settled back, leaning against the wall of the cargo hold, and went back to studying the _adiik’e_ around him, watching them carefully for signs of nightmares or flashbacks, and ready to take them aside before they woke the others if they stirred.

Only a few more days, a few more battles, and then none of them would have to be _verd’ike_ anymore. Not unless they wanted to, and not until they grew into it. They would see to that— _haat, ijaa, haa’it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> ade - children  
> Mandokar - someone who has "the right stuff" to be a Mandalorian  
> verd'ike - little soldiers  
> haa'it - vision  
> vi/mhi - we  
> werd/prudii - dark/shadow  
> beskad'e - a beskad is a Mandalorian saber with a curved tip, usually made of beskar  
> kadause - swords  
> Alor - leader  
> verd'ika - little soldier (singular)  
> kadau - sword (singular)  
> N'entye - no debt (you're welcome)  
> Ret'urcye vi. - Myabe we'll meet again. (But should be "mhi" instead of "vi")  
> verde - soldiers  
> akalenedat - hard contact  
> haat, ijaa, haa'it - truth, honor, vision. Said when sealing a pact
> 
> A little note about apostrophes in Mando'a: they're used when two words are put together to make another word with a slightly different meaning, like "Mand'alor," but also to denote an accent. So a word like "verd'e" could be with the apostrophe, or without, AFAIK. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Announcement time! :D  
  
I've made this fic into a series now. Any one-shots that I pull out to keep working on and post longer, ongoing stories, I'll add as a work to this series. The first one is the continuation of chapters 1 and 3! I've titled that one Jetii'Manda.  
  
If I add more to this series, I'll post here in this fic just to let you all know, as another new chapter.

UPDATE: There has been a new development in Jetii'Manda and I wanted to put it here. The fic is now Jaster/Ben! I know that that isn't everyone's cup of tea, so just a heads up there. No smut, though, just a tiny getting together arc. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this one ever gets continued, it will definitely be in a separate fic so I don't have to up the rating on this one... Death Watch are not nice people, though some of them do nice things, sometimes.

Obi-Wan was cold, and he was scared, and he didn’t understand what was happening.

Momma and Papa had talked to him before about having to go away, to a special school with other children like him where they would teach him how to use his special powers. But it had always seemed like something that might happen someday, not something that was _real._

And then, that morning, they had told him he was leaving. Obi-Wan knew it was because he hadn’t been good, and last week he’d cried, and the window in his room had broken, and gotten glass everywhere. Momma and Papa had seemed scared of him after that.

The big man who looked scary (he was even missing an eye!), but felt really nice and warm, had come to take him in the afternoon. He’d knelt down, smiled at him, and said, “Hello, Obi-Wan. I am Master Behn Kesh, and I am a Jedi. Your parents would like me to take you to our Temple, to our home, to learn to use your gifts. Will you come with me?”

Obi-Wan had looked at Momma and Papa, taking in the strangely blank looks on their faces, and then at Master Behn, who was smiling softly at him. He nodded.

“‘Kay.”

So Obi-Wan had made sure he was holding on tight to his stuffed tooka so as not to lose it, and then let Master Behn pick him up, and take him to his starship. They were going to Coruscant, Master Behn explained. That was where the Temple was, and Obi-Wan would join the Jedi Order.

“Will I get to come back home when I learn to be a Jedi?” Obi-Wan had asked, and Master Behn had hummed.

“Perhaps,” he answered slowly. “The future is always in motion, little one. We never know what might happen next.”

Taking off had felt weird, and Obi-Wan had hugged his tooka tightly, watching the sky get closer and closer until they went through it, and everything was black, except for little dots of light on the horizon.

“Are we in space?”

“Yes, little one. Wait until we reach hyperspace,” Master Behn had said, that same gentle smile on his face. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile back at him. And then the little dots of light stretched and pulled until there was an endless stream of light in front of them, flowing like water.

“Woah,” Obi-Wan breathed, and Master Behn chuckled.

“This is hyperspace, Obi-Wan. You’ll be seeing a lot of it over the next few days.”

They’d stayed in hyperspace for a long time, and Obi-Wan and Master Behn both slept, and then the lights stopped streaking and went back to being those little points, and Master Behn had said something about charting the next jump before going perfectly still. A moment later, the ship had started _screeching,_ and Obi-Wan had let go of his toy to clap his hands over his ears. Master Behn looked down at the screens, said something too low for Obi-Wan to hear, and then turned around and scooped him up. Master Behn, Obi-Wan noticed, wasn’t smiling anymore.

The alarms didn’t stop as Master Behn ran through the ship, and then tucked him into a small room, carefully handing him his tooka. He gave Obi-Wan another smile, but this one seemed… sad. Worried.

“You need to stay here,” Master Behn said, and Obi-Wan frowned.

“What’s happenin’?” Obi-Wan asked, squeezing his tooka tighter.

“Bad people are trying to get onto the ship,” Master Behn said. “This—” He waved a hand as if to encompass the little room. “—is an escape pod. A much smaller ship for you to hide in. The ship and the Force are both warning me of danger.”

The whole ship lurched, and Obi-Wan squeezed his tooka so hard he thought he might hurt it, and then he desperately reached out a hand for Master Behn.

“Don’t go,” he said, his voice shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. Master Behn’s smile grew sadder.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said. Master Behn pressed a button on the wall, and the room shut, and Obi-Wan couldn’t see Master Behn anymore, and then he felt the little ship moving—

He didn’t see it happen, but a moment later, he could tell that Master Behn was just… gone. Obi-Wan clutched his tooka to his chest, buried his face in it, and sobbed.

When Obi-Wan had cried himself out, he’d fallen asleep. When he woke up, he was cold, and still tired, and he was scared, and confused, and he didn’t understand how Master Behn would get to him if he was just _gone._

The tiny ship lurched, and Obi-Wan looked up hopefully. Maybe Master Behn had come back? It didn’t _feel_ like Master Behn, and he was gone. Obi-Wan heard clattering, metal-on-metal sounds, and then something hissing, and then the little door opened, and—

Obi-Wan stared at… the person? The droid? He couldn’t tell. They looked like they were made of metal, blue and grey. Slowly, they reached up and pulled off some of the metal. It was a person, after all, and Obi-Wan studied their face. Their skin was darker than his own, and so was their hair, but they had kind eyes.

“ _Su cuy’gar, adiik,_ ” they said softly. Obi-Wan blinked at them.

“Hi?” he tried, and the not-droid-but-still-metal-person hummed.

“You speak Basic?” Obi-Wan nodded, and they smiled at him. “I am Aularia of Clan Wren, House Vizsla. What is your name, _ad’ika?_ ”

“Obi-Wan,” he answered, and Aularia nodded.

“Obi-Wan,” she repeated. “Where are your parents?”

“Home, I guess?” he said, and Aularia tilted her head.

“And where is ‘home?’”

“Stewjon.”

Aularia nodded slowly. “We have no quarrel with Stewjon. We can take you back to your parents, Obi-Wan.” His vision swam with tears again, and he buried his face in the tooka. “What is it, _ad’ika?_ ”

“I don’ think they want me,” he said, mostly into the tooka toy, face still planted in its soft fur. “They said I had to go with Master Behn.”

Aularia was silent for a long moment at that, and then Obi-Wan heard rustling, and then more metal-on-metal noises, and then there was a hand on his shoulder, and his head snapped up. Aularia was crouched beside him, giving him a very serious look.

“You are not a slave, Obi-Wan,” she said firmly, and he frowned. He didn’t know what that word meant. “You will _never_ call anyone ‘Master’ again, do you understand me?” He nodded slowly, and she smiled at him.

“ _Osik!_ Aul’ika, _ke’slana. Jii!_ ” another voice yelled from somewhere else. Aularia frowned, looking back over her shoulder briefly. Obi-Wan leaned to the side to look around her, but didn’t see anything.

“ _Pare,_ Lom! _Cuyi adiik._ ”

“ _Haar’chak! Jetii’adiik!_ ”

“ _Me'ven?_ ” Aularia called back, and then shook her head, and turned back to Obi-Wan. He didn’t understand what they were saying, but he thought he recognized “Jedi,” even if they said it funny. “Will you let me pick you up?” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. Aularia didn’t feel quite as warm and bright as Master Behn had, but she seemed nice. She picked him up gently, careful not to press him too hard against her metal skin, and Obi-Wan made sure to keep a hold of his tooka. She stepped out of the little room and into a larger one, and then hit a button. A wall came up, blocking off the little ship-room, and then everything shuddered again.

Obi-Wan looked around as much as he could with Aularia still carefully holding him fast to her chest. It looked like everything was made out of more metal, just like Master Behn’s ship had been.

“Are we on a ship?” Obi-Wan asked.

“ _Elek._ Yes,” Aularia answered, and then the ship shuddered again, a little more violently this time. Obi-Wan let out a little noise, and Aularia held him just a bit tighter. “ _Udesii, ad’ika._ You’re fine.” She started walking, taking them out of the large room and through a hallway to a much smaller one. It looked like the area on Master Behn’s ship that he’d called a cockpit. Aularia sat down, leaving Obi-Wan in her lap, and she did not let go.

There was another metal-person in one of the chairs, and Obi-Wan perked up as they did something to the buttons that made the light turn into rivers streaking by again. He smiled, but that faded as the other metal-person turned around, a thunderous scowl on their face.

“What did you _do,_ Aularia?” they growled, and Aularia tilted her head. Obi-Wan pressed back into her a bit. He didn’t think he liked this angry metal-person.

“ _Ade cuyi vencuyot,_ ” Aularia answered, sounding both angry and confused. Obi-Wan was confused, too. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one.

The other metal-person made a strangled sounding growl. “ _Kaysh cuyi_ **_Jetii._ ** _Val me’sen yilad… Jetii._ ”

Aularia was silent at that, and Obi-Wan decided to speak up. “I dunno what you’re saying, but I think I know Jedi. Momma and Papa said I had to go with Mas—” He cut himself off as Aularia’s hold on him tightened almost painfully. “—I had to go with Behn. He said he was a Jedi, and he was gonna take me to his home. Then he was gone.”

Both metal-people were silent at that for a long time, and then the angry one sighed roughly. “ _Osik._ Aul’ika… Tor _nu’duumi gar kir'manir kaysh._ _Cuyi Jetii. Kyr'amu kaysh, iviin'yc._ ”

Obi-Wan’s insides went cold at that, and he tried to shift closer towards Aularia again, who smoothed a hand over his hair. He still couldn’t understand the words they were using, but he felt something cold and oily and unpleasant at them that made him shiver.

“ _Ni tegaanali kaysh,_ ” Aularia said. “ _Teh Jetiise, bal kaysh dar’buir’e. Kaysh ven’cuyi Mando’ad._ ” The other metal-person stared at them, and then huffed, shrugging one shoulder jerkily.

“ _Dini'la dajun,_ ” they muttered, and then waved a hand. Aularia gently turned Obi-Wan so that she could look him in the eye.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad,_ Obi-Wan,” she said, and then smiled at him. She stroked a gentle finger over his cheek, and he blinked up at her. He felt something warm come over him, and he smiled back. “That means, ‘I know your name as my child.’ You are my son, now.”

He blinked at her again. “You’re my new Momma?”

She nodded. “The word for me is _‘buir.’_ ”

“ _Buir,_ ” Obi-Wan repeated. _Buir_ meant Momma. He made sure to remember that. Aularia— _Buir_ —smiled and nodded at him. The other metal-person let out another vaguely unhappy noise, but didn’t say anything else.

 _Buir_ started petting his hair again, and Obi-Wan’s cheek found itself resting on top of his tooka. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Osik! Aul'ika, ke'slana. Jii! - Shit! Aul'ika, go. Now!  
> Pare, Lom. Cuyi adiik. - Wait, Lom. It's a kid.  
> Haar'chak! Jetii'adiik! - Dammit! A Jedi kid!  
> Me'ven? - What? (Expression of disbelief/confusion)  
> Ade cuyi vencuyot - Children are the future  
> Kaysh cuyi Jetii. Val me'sen yilad... Jetii. - They're Jedi. Their ship array... Jedi.  
> Tor nu'duumi gar kir'manir kaysh. Cuyi Jetii. Kyr'amu kaysh, iviin'yc. - Tor won't allow you to adopt him. He's a Jedi. Kill him, fast.  
> Ni tegaanali kaysh. Teh Jetiise, bal kaysh dar'buir'e. Kaysh ven'cuyi Mando'ad. - I'm saving him. From the Jedi, and his former parents. He will be Mandalorian.  
> Dini'la dajun - Insane plan
> 
> Update: Mando'a correction courtesy of Batsutousai! I thought it looked wrong, but put my trust in the dictionary over myself. :P Thanks for letting me know!


End file.
